
rare ■ •■-•-•• ■ ■■•. 

Book ■ C 1 

Copyright If 



GQEHUGNT DEPOSIT 



/ 






YOUNG FOLKS' SPEAKER 



A COLLECTION OF PROSE AND POETRY FOR 

DECLAMATIONS, RECITATIONS AND 

ELOCUTIONARY EXERCISES 



SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY 

CARRIE ADELAIDE COOKE 

Author of "From June to June," "To-days and Yester- 
days," Etc., Etc 



ILLUSTRATED 



BOSTON 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 

32 FRANKLIN STREET 



\^ 



Copyright, 1882, 
D Lothrop & Company. 



CONTENTS. 



In School-days 


7 


What We find 


5o 


Little Golden-hair 


9 


The Secret 


50 


The little One 


ii 


A Pound, Sir ! 


54 


Do your Best 


ii 


An Aim in Life 


55 


Where did You come from 


? 12 


One thing at a Time 


55 


Little Birdie 


x 5 


They didn't think 


56 


The dead Doll 


16 


That dropped Stitch 


59 


A good Name 


21 


The Swiss " Good-night " 


61 


The little Soldier 


21 


The Shadows 


63 


A, B, C, 


22 


Sunshine and Showers 


67 


The three Copecks 


2 3 


Over the Hill 


71 


Suppose 


26 


Ino and Uno 


73 


Philip, my King 


27 


The Swan and the Crows 


74 


Boys wanted 


•29 


Duke Leopold's Stone 


76 


The unfinished Prayer 


30 


Shall the Baby stay ? 


80 


The Minutes 


30 


A Triumph 


3j 


A bird's-eye View 


31 


The Children's Hour 


86 


Benny 


33 


Which loved best? 


^7 


Polly 


36 


Learn a Little every Day 


9i 


Keys 


39 


Only- 


92 


Beauty 


39 


Ad vice 


92 


The Try Company 


40 


The little Runaway 


93 


Little by Little 


4i 


Childhood's Hours 


95 


Little Dandelion 


42 


Xo Surrender 


97 


Catching the Cat 


45 


Leonardo's Bird Cages 


97 


The life Ledger 


49 


Old and Xew 


I0 3 



Contents, 



Little white Lily 


104 


A Nut to crack 


107 


A Chrysalis 


no 


Good Counsel 


in 


The Bluebell 


112 


The Sands of Dee 


114 


The golden Rule 


™5 


Not always Children 


"5 


The School 


116 


Now 


119 


The brown Thrush 


120 


The gray Swan 


123 


Larvae 


126 


The four Sunbeams 


127 


I'll put It off 


129 


At the Party 


129 


Keep to the Right 


i35 


Sowing 


136 


Song of Seven. — Seven 




Times One 


m 


Jeannette and Jo 


138 


The Children in the Moon 


142 


Rescued 


145 


The Tree 


149 


The Crow's Children 


150 


The little Brother 


152 


Prose and Poetry 


x 57 


The Lark and the Rook 


184 


A short Sermon 


186 


If We knew 


187 


Incident of the French 




Camp 


188 


A Comforter 


190 


The motherless Turkeys 


194 


How They brought the good 


News from Ghent to Aix 196 


Farm-yard Song 


200 



The May Queen 202 

Abou Ben Adh'em and the 

Angel 217 

Little by Little 218 

The pied Piper of Hamelin 219 
An Easter Poem 233 

The Life-web 234 

Bernardo Del Carpio 234 

The broken Toys 238 

A little Child's Fancies 240 
Doing or Dreaming 243 

Norembega 243 

The Wreck of the Hesperus 249 
The high Tide on the Coast 

of Lincolnshire 255 

The Child and the Gorse 262 
The Mountain and the 

Squirrel 263 

The barefoot Boy 264 

Little Builders 267 

The discontented Yew-tree 268 
The Inchcape Rock 270 

Discontent 274 

To-day 276 

A Proverb 277 

What the Sparrow chirps 278 
The open Door 280 

What the Choir sang about 

the new Bonnet 282 

John Maynard 286 

John Gilpin . 290 

The Builders 301 

The Chi Id- Judge 303 

True Nobility 308 

The Beggar 308 

Life 310 

Good-night, Good-by 311 



The Young Folks' Speaker, 



IN SCHOOL-DAYS. 

STILL sits the school-house by the road, 
A ragged beggar, sunning ; 
Around it still the sumachs grow, 
And blackberry-vines are running. 

Within, the master's desk is seen, 
Deep scarred by raps official ; 

The warping floor, the battered seats, 
The jack-knife's carved initial ; 

The charcoal frescoes on its wall ; 

Its door's worn sill, betraying 
The feet that, creeping slow to school, 

Went storming out to playing ! 



IN SCHOOL-DAYS. 

Long years ago a winter sun 

Shone over it at setting ; 
Lit up its western window-panes, 

And low eaves' icy fretting. 

It touched the tangled golden curls, 
And brown eyes full of grieving, 

Of one who still her steps delayed 
When all the school were leaving. 

For near her stood the little boy 

Her childish favor singled : 
His cap pulled low upon a face 

Where pride and shame were mingled. 

Pushing with restless feet the snow 
To right and left, he lingered ; 

As restlessly her tiny hands 

The blue-checked apron fingered. 

He saw her lift her eyes ; he felt 
The soft hand's light caressing, 

And heard the tremble of her voice, 
As if a fault confessing. 

" I'm sorry that I spelt the word : 

I hate to go above you, 

Because," — the brown eyes lower fell, — 

" Because, you see, I love you ! " 



LITTLE GOLDEN-HAIR. 

Still memory to a gray-haired man 
That sweet child-face is showing. 

Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave 
Have forty years been growing ! 



He lives to learn, in life's hard school, 
How few who pass above him 

Lament their triumph and his loss, 
Like her, — because they love him. 

— John G. Whittier. 

LITTLE GOLDEN-HAIR^ 

GOLDEN-HAIR climbed upon Grandpapa's 
knee ; 
Dear little Golden-hair, tired was she, 
All the day busy as busy could be. 

Up in the morning as soon as 'twas light, 
Out with the birds and butterflies bright, 
Skipping about till the coming of night. 

Grandpapa toyed with the curls on her head : 
" What has my darling been doing ? " he said, 
" Since she arose with the sun from her bed ? " 

4l Pitty much," answered the sweet little one ; 
" I cannot tell, so much things I have done, — 
Played with my dolly, and feeded my bun. 



IO LITTLE GOLDEN-HAIR. 

"And then I jumped with my little jump-rope: 
And then I made, out of some water and soap, 
Bootiful worlds — mamma's castles of hope. 

"I afterward readed in my picture-book, 
And Bella and I, we went clown to look 
For smooth little stones, by the side of the brook, 

"And then I corned home and eated my tea, 
And then I climbed up on Grandpapa's knee, 
And I jes as tired as tired can be." 

Lower and lower the little head pressed, 

Until it had dropped upon Grandpapa's breast ; 

Dear little Golden-hair, sweet be thy rest ! 

We are but children ; the diings that we do 
Are as sports of the babe t\ the Infinite view, 
That marks all our weakness, and pities it too. 

God grant that when night overshadows our way, 
And we shall be called to account for our clay, 
He shall find us as guiltless as Golden-hair's lay. 

And, O, when a-weary, may we be so blest 
As to sink, like the innocent child, to our rest. 
And feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite breast. 

— F Burge Smiths 



THE LITTLE ONE. IT 

THE LITTLE ONE. 

ANOTHER little wave 
Upon the sea of life ; 
Another soul to save 
Amid its toil and strife. 

Two more little feet 

To walk the dusty road ; 

To choose where two paths meet, 
The narrow and the broad. 

Two more little hands 
To work for good or ill ; 

Two more little eyes, 
Another little will. 

Another heart to love, 

Receiving love again ; 
And so the baby came, 

A thing of joy and pain. 

— Mrs. Lacy E. Akerman. 

DO YOUR BEST. 

O your best, your very best, 
And do it every day, 
Little boys and little girls : 
That is the wisest way. 



D 



12 WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? 

Whatever work comes to your hand, 
At home, or at your school, 

Do your best with right good will ; 
It is a golden rule. 

For he who always does his best, 
His best will better grow ; 

But he who shirks or slights his task, 
He lets the better go. 

What if your lessons should be hard ? 

You need not yield to sorrow ; 
For he who bravely works to-day, 

His tasks grow 'bright to-morrow. 



WHERE DID YOU COME FROM ? 



W 



HERE did you come from, baby deai;? 
Out of the everywhere into the here. 



Where did you get your eyes so blue ? 
Out of the sky as I came through. 

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin ? 
Some of the starry spikes left in. 

Where did you get that little tear? 
I found it waiting when I got here. 



LITTLE BIRDIE. 15 

What makes your forehead so smooth and high ?■ 
A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose ? 
Something better than any one knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ? 
Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 

Where did you get that pearly ear ? 
God spoke, and it came out to hear. 

Where did you get those arms and hands? 
Love made itself into hooks and bands. 

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? 
From the same box as the cherubs' wings. 

How did they all come just to be you? 
God thought of me, and so I grew. 

But how did you come to us, you dear ? 
God thought of you, and so I am here. 

— George MacDonald. 



LITTLE BIRDIE. 

WHAT does little birdie say, 
In her nest at peep of day ? 
" Let me fly," says little birdie, 
" Mother, let me fly away." 



l6 THE DEAD DOLL. 

" Birdie, rest a little longer, 
Till the little wings are stronger." 
So she rests a little longer, 
Then she flies away. 

What does little baby say, 
In her bed at peep of day? 
Baby says, like little birdie, 

"Let me rise and fly away/' ' 
" Baby, sleep a little longer, 
Till the little limbs are stronger. 
If she sleeps a little longer, 

Baby, too, shall fly away." 

— Alfred Tennyson. 



THE DEAD DOLL. 

YOU needn't be trying to comfort me. I tell 
you my dolly is dead ! 
There's no use saying she isn't, with a crack like 

that in her head. 
It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to 

have my tooth out that day; 
And then when the man 'most pulled my head off, 
you hadn't a word to say. 

And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you 

say you can mend it with glue ! 
As if I didn't know better than that ! Why, just 
suppose it was you ! 



THE DEAD DOLL. 1 9 

You might make her look all mended — but what 

do I care for looks ? 
Why, glue's for chairs, and tables, and toys, and 

the backs of books ! 

My dolly ! my own little daughter ! Oh- but it's the 

awfullest crack ! 
It just makes me sick to think of the sound when 

her poor head went whack ! 
Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the 

little shelf. 
Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me ? I know 

that I did it myself. 

I think you must be crazy — you'll get her another 

head ! 
What good would forty heads do her ? I tell you 

my dolly is dead ! 
And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant 

new spring hat ! 
And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to 

tie on that horrid cat ! 

When my mamma gave me that ribbon — I was 

playing out in the yard — 
She said to me most expressly, " Here's a ribbon 

for Hildegarde." 
And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde 

saw me do it ! 
But I said to myself, " Oh, never mind ; I don't 

believe she knew it." 



20 THE DEAD DOLL. 

But I know that she knew it now, and I just 

believe, I do, 
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her 

head broke too. 
Oh, my baby ! my little baby ! I wish my head had 

been hit ! 
For I've hit it ove-r and over, and it hasn't cracked 

a bit. 

But since the- darling is dead, she'll want to be 

buried, of course ; 
We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall 

be the horse ; 
And I'll walk behind and cry ; and we'll put her 

in this, you see — 
This dear little box — and we'll bury her then 

under the maple tree. 

And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one 

he made for my bird ; 
And he'll put what I tell him on it — yes, every 

single word ! 
I shall say : " Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful 

doll who is dead ; 
She died of a broken heart and a dreadful crack 

in her head ! " 

— Margaret Vandegrift, 



A GOOD NAME. 21 

A GOOD NAME. 

CHILDREN, choose it, 
Don't refuse it ; 
J Tis a precious diadem ; 
Highly prize it, 
Don't despise it ; 
You will need it when voir re men. 



Love and cherish, 

Keep and nourish ; 
' Tis more precious far than gold ; 

Watch and guard it, 

Don't discard it ; 
You will need it when you're old 



THE LITTLE SOLDIER. 

ANOTHER little private 
Mustered in 
The army of temptation 
And of sin. 



Another soldier arming 

For the strife, 
To fight the toilsome battles 

Of a life. 



>2 



Another little sentry 

Who will stand 
On guard, while evil prowls 

On every hand. 



Lord, our little darling 



Guide, and save, 
'Mid the perils of the march 
To the grave ! 

— Pacific Monthly. 



A, B, C. 

BY Alpine lake, 'neath shady rock. 
The herd-boy knelt beside his flock, 
And softly told, with pious air, 
His alphabet as evening prayer. 



Unseen, his pastor lingered near : 

"My child, what means the sound I hear?" 

"May I not in the worship share, 

And raise to Heaven my evening prayer ? 



ki Where'er the hills and valleys blend, 
The sounds of prayer and praise ascend." 
" My child, a prayer yours cannot be : 
You've only said your A, B, C." 



THE THREE COPECKS. 23 

" I have no better way to pray, — 
All that I know to God I say : 
I tell the letters on my knees ; 
He makes the words himself to please." 
— Posies for Children. 

THE THREE COPECKS. 

CROUCHED low in a sordid chamber, 
With a cupboard of empty shelves, — 
Half starved, and, alas ! unable 

To comfort or help themselves, — 

Two children were left forsaken, 

All orphaned of mortal care ; 
But with spirits too close to heaven 

To be tainted by earth's despair, — 

Alone in that crowded city, 

Which shines like an Arctic star, 

By the banks of the frozen Neva, 
In the realm of the mighty Czar. 

Now, Max was an urchin of seven ; 

But his delicate sister, Leeze, 
With the crown of her rippling ringlets, 

Could scarcely have reached your knees ! 

As he looked on his sister weeping, 
And tortured by hunger's smart, 

A thought like an angel entered 
At the door of his opened heart. 



24 THE THREE COPECKS. 

He wrote on a fragment of paper, — 
With quivering hand and soul, — 

" Please send to me, Christ I three copecks, 
To purchase for Leeze a roll!" 

Then rushed to a church, his missive 
To drop, — ere the vesper psalms, — 

As the sweet mail bound Christward, — 
In the unlocked box for alms ! 

While he stood upon tiptoe to reach it, 
One passed from the priestly band, 

And with smile like a benediction 
Took the note from his eager hand. 

Having read it, the good man's bosom 

Grew warm with a holy joy; 
" Ah ! Christ may have heard you already,- 

Will you come to my house, my boy ? " 

" But not without Leeze ? " " No, surely, 
We'll have a rare party of three : 

Go, tell her that somebody's waiting 
To welcome her home to tea." 

That night, in the coziest cottage, 
The orphans were safe at rest, 

Each snug as a callow birdling 
In the depths of its downy nest. 



THE THREE COPECKS. 25 

And the next Lord's Day, in his pulpit, 
The preacher so spake of these 

Stray lambs from the fold, which Jesus 
Had blessed by the sacred seas ; 

So recounted their guileless story. 
As he held each child by the hand, 

That the hardest there could feel it, 
And the dullest could understand. 

O'er the eyes of the listening fathers 

There floated a gracious mist ; 
And oh, Jiow the tender mothers 

Those desolate darlings kissed ! 

'• You have given your tears," said the preacher. 

" Heart-alms we should none despise ; 
But the open palm, my children, 

Is more than the weeping eyes ! " 

Then followed a swift collection. 
From the altar steps to the door, 

Till the sum of two thousand rubles 
The vergers had counted o'er. 

So you - see that unmailed letter 
Had somehow gone to its goal, 

And more than three copecks gathered 
To purchase for Leeze a roll ! 

— Paul H. Haxne, 



26 SUPPOSE. 

SUPPOSE. 

SUPPOSE, my little lady, 
Your doll should break her head, 
Could you make it whole by crying 
Till your eyes and nose are red ? 
And wouldn't it be pleasanter 

To treat it as a joke, 
And say you're glad kk 'twas Dolly's, 
And not your head that broke?" 

Suppose you're dressed for walking, 
And the rain comes pouring down, 

Will it clear off any sooner 

• Because you scold and frown ? 

And wouldn't it be nicer 

For you to smile than pout, 

And so make sunshine in the house 
When there is none without ? 

Suppose your task, my little man, 

Is very hard to get, 
Will it make it any easier 

For you to sit and fret? 
And wouldn't it be wiser, 

Than waiting like a dunce, 
To go to work in earnest, 

And learn the thing at once ? 

Suppose that some boys have a horse, 
And some a coach and pair, 



PHILIP, MY KING. 27 

Will it tire you less, while walking, 

To say, " It isn't fair ? " 
And wouldn't it be nobler 

To keep your temper sweet, 
And in your heart be thankful 

You can walk upon your feet? 



And suppose the world don't please you, 

Nor the way some people do, 
Do you think the whole creation 

Will be altered just for you ? 
And isn't it, my boy or girl, 

The wisest, bravest plan, 
Whatever comes or doesn't come, 

To do the best you can ? 

— Phoebe Gary. 



PHILIP, MY KING. 

LOOK at me with thy large, brown eyes, 
Philip, my King ! 
For round thee the purple shadow lies 
Of babyhood's regal dignities. 
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand 

With love's invisible sceptre laden ; 
I am thine Esther, to command 
/ Till thou shalt find thy queen hand-maiden, 
Philip, my King ! 



28 PHILIP, MY KING. 

Oh, the clay when thou goest a-wooing, 

Philip, my King ! 
When those beautiful lips are suing, 
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing, 
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there 

Sittest all glorified! — Rule kindly, 
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair ; 

For we that love, ah ! we love so blindly, 
Philip, my King ! 

I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow , 

Philip, my King ! 
Aye, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now, 
That may rise like a giant, and make men 

bow r 
As to one God-throned amidst his peers. 

My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer, 
Let me behold thee in coming years ! 
Vet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, 
Philip, my King — 

A wreath, not of gold, but palm ! One day, 

Philip, my King ! 
Thou too must tread, as we tread, a way 
Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray ; 
Rebels within thee, and foes without 

Will snatch at thy crown ; but go on, glorious 
Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout, 

As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious, 
" Philip, the King ! " 

— Mrs. (Mitlock) Craik. 



BOYS WANTED. 29 

BOYS WANTED. 

BOYS of spirit, boys of will, 
Boys of muscle, brain and power, 
Fit to cope with anything — 
These are wanted every hour. 



Not the weak and whining drones, 
That all trouble magnify — 

Not the watchword of " I can't," 
But the nobler one. "Til try." 



Do whate'er you have to do 
With a true and earnest zeal. 

Bend your sinews to the task — 
Put your shoulders to the wheel. 



Though your duty may be hard, 
Look not on it as an ill ; 

If it be an honest task, 
Do it with an honest will. 



At the anvil, on the farm, 
Wheresoever you may be — 

From your future efforts, boys, 
Comes a nation's destiny. 



30 THE MINUTES. 

THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 

NOW I lay" — repeat it, darling — 
" Lay me," lisped the tiny lips 
Of my daughter, kneeling, bending 
O'er her folded finger-tips. 

" Down to sleep : " " To sleep," she murmured, 

And the curly head bent low ; 
"I pray thee Lord," I gently added; 

u You can say it all, I know." 

"Pray thee Lord" — the sound came faintly, 

Fainter still, " My soul to keep ; " 
Then the tired head fairly nodded, 

And the child was fast asleep. 

But the dewy eyes half opened 

When I clasped her to my breast, 

And the dear voice softly whispered, 
" Mamma, God knows all the rest." 



THE MINUTES. 

WE are but minutes — little things, 
Each one furnished with sixty wings, 
With which we fly on our unseen track, 
And not a minute ever comes back. 



A BIRD S- EY E V T EW. 3 T 

We are but minutes — yet each one bears 
A little burden of joys and cares. 
Patiently take the minutes of pain — 
The worst of minutes cannot remain. 



We are but minutes — when we bring 
A few of the drops from pleasure's spring. 
Taste their sweetness while we stay — 
It takes but a minute to fly away. 



We are but minutes — use us well, 
For how we .are used we must one day tell 
W T ho uses minutes has hours to use — 
Who loses minutes whole years must lose. 



A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW. 

QUOTH the boy: "I'll climb that tree, 
And bring down a nest I know." 
Quoth the girl : "I will not see 

Little birds defrauded so ! 
Cowardly their nests to take. 
And their little hearts to break, 
And their little nests to steal. 
Leaye them happy for my sake ; ~ 
Surely little birds can feel ! " 



32 A BIRD S-EYE VIEW. 

Quoth the boy : " My senses whirl ; 

Until now I never heard 
Of the wisdom of a girl 

Or the feelings of a bird! 
Pretty Mrs. Solomon, 
Tell me what you reckon on 

When you prate in such a strain ; 
If I wring their necks anon, 

Certainly they might feel — pain." 



Quoth the girl : " I watch them talk, 

Making love and making fun, 
In the pretty ash tree walk, 

When my daily task is done ; 
In their little eyes I find 
They are very fond and kind. 

Every change of song or voice 
Plainly proveth to my mind 

They can suffer and rejoice." 



And the little Robin-bird 

(Nice brown back and crimson breast,) 
All the conversation heard, 

Sitting trembling in his nest. 
"What a world," he cried, "of bliss - — 
Full of birds and girls — were this ! 

Blithe we'd answer to their call ; 
But a great mistake it is 

Bovs were ever made at all." 



BENNY. 33 

BENNY. 

I HAD told him, Christmas morning, 
As he sat upon my knee, 
Holding fast his little stockings, 

Stuffed as full as full could be, 
And attentive, listening to me, 

With a face demure and mild, 
That old Santa Claus, who filled them, 
Did not love a naughty child. 



"But we'll be good, won't we, Moder?" 

And from off my lap he slid, 
Digging deep among the goodies 

In his crimson stockings hid, 
While I turned me to my table, 

Where a tempting goblet stood, 
With a dainty drink brimmed over 

Sent me by a neighbor good. 



But the kitten, there before me, 

With his white paw, nothing loth, 
Sat by way of entertainment, 

Slapping off the shining froth ; 
And in not the gentlest humor 

At the loss of such a treat, 
I confess, I rather rudely 

Thrust him out into the street. 



34 BENNY. 

Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled I 

Gathering up the precious store, 
He had busily been pouring 

In his tiny pinafore. 
With a generous look that shamed me 

Sprang he from the carpet bright, 
Showing by his mien indignant 

All a baby's sense of right. 



" Come back, Harney," called he loudly, 

As he held his apron white, 
" You sail have my candy wabbit ! " 

But the door was fastened tight ; 
So he stood, abashed and silent, 

In the centre of the floor, 
With defeated look alternate 

Bent on me and on the door. 



Then, as by some sudden impulse, 

Quickly ran he to the fire, 
And while eagerly his bright eyes 

Watched the flames go high and higher, 
In a brave, clear key, he shouted, 

Like some lordly little elf, 

" Santa Kaus, come down de chimney, 
Make mv moder 'have herself ! " 



BENNY. 35 

" I wi)l be a good girl, Benny," 

Sai/d I, feeling the reproof; 
And straightway recalled poor Harney 

Mewing on the gallery roof. 
Soon the anger was forgotten, 

Laughter chased away the frown, 
And they gambolled 'neath the live-oaks 

Till the dusky night came down. 



In my dim, fire-lighted chamber, 

Harney purred beneath my chair, 
And my play-worn boy beside me, 

Knelt to say his evening prayer: 
" God bess fader, God bess moder, 

God bess sister" — then a pause, 
And the sweet young lips devoutly 

Murmured — "God bess Santa Kaus." 



He is sleeping; brown and silken 

Lie the lashes, long and meek, 
Like caressing, clinging shadows 

On his plump and peachy cheek; 
And I bend above him, weeping 

Thankful tears, Oh Undefiled ! 
For a woman's crown of glory, 

For the blessing of a child. 



36 POLLY. 

POLLY. 



BROWN eye?, straight nose; 
Dirt pies, rumpled clothes. 



Torn books, spoilt toys : 
Arch looks, unlike a boy's: 



Little rages, obvious arts; 
(Three her age is), cakes, tarts; 



Falling down off chairs ; 
Breaking crown down stairs ; 

Catching flies on the pane ; 
Deep sighs — cause not plain; 



Bribirg you with kisses 
For a few farthing blisses. 



Wide awake ; as you hear, 
"Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!" 



New shoes, new frock; 
.Vague views of what's o'clock 



KEYS. BEAUTY. 39 

When it's time to go to bed, 
And scorn sublime for what's said. 

Folded hands, saying prayers; 
Understands not, nor cares; 

Thinks it odd; smiles away; 
Yet may God hear her pray ! 

Bed-gown white, kiss Dolly ; 
Good-night! that's Polly. 

Fast asleep, as you see; 
Heaven keep my girl for me ! 

— Lilliput Levee, 



KEYS. 

HEARTS, like doois, will ope with ease, 
To very, very little keys ; 
And don't forget that two are these, 

"1 thank you, sir," and "If you please." 



BEAUTY. 

BEAUTIFUL faces, they that wear 
The light of a pleasant spirit there ; 
It matters little if dark or fair. 



40 THE TRY COMPANY. 

Beautiful hands are they that do 

The work of the noble, good, and true ; 

Busy for them the long day through. 

Beautiful feet are they that go 
Swiftly to lighten another's woe, 
Through summer's heat or winter's snow. 

Beautiful children of rich or poor, y 

Who walk the pathway, sweet and pure, 
That leads to the mansion strong and sure. 



THE TRY COMPANY. 

WE are the Try children, so happy and bright ; 
We never say "can't" but "I'll try;" 
Our motto it is, and we know it is right, 
We never say "can't," but "I'll try." 

Many men whom great we call, 

Chose this phrase when they were small ; 

Perseverance conquers all, — 

We never say "can't," but " I'll try." 

If we have long, difficult lessons to say, 
We never say "can't," but "I'll try;" 

Where there is a will, there is always a way; 
We never say "can't," but "I'll try." 



LITTLE BY LITTLE. 41 

Onward, upward, push along, 
This shall always be our song, 
Though w r e're neither big nor strong, 
We never say "can't," but "111 try." 



LITTLE BY LITTLE. 

ONE step and then another, 
And the longest walk is ended ; 
One stitch and then another, 
And the largest rent is mended. 



One brick upon another, 

And the highest wall is made ; 
One flake upon another, 

And the deepest snow is laid. 



So the little coral workers, 

By their slow but constant motion, 
Have built those pretty islands 

In the distant, dark-blue ocean. 



And the noblest undertakings 
Man's wisdom hath conceived, 

By oft-repeated efforts, 

Have been patiently achieved. 



42 LITTLE DANDELION. 

LITTLE DANDELION. 

GAY little Dandelion 
Lights up the meads, 
Swings on her slender foot, 

Telleth her beads, 
Lists to the robin's note 

Poured from above: 
Wise little Dandelion 
Asks not for love. 



Cold lie the daisy banks 

Clothed but in green, 
Where, in the days agone, 

Bright hues were seen. 
Wild pinks are slumbering ; 

Violets delay; 
True little Dandelion 

Greeteth the May. 



Brave little Dandelion ! 

Fast falls the snow, 
Bending the daffodil's 

Haughty head low. 
Under that fleecy tent, 

Careless of cold, 
Blithe little Dandelion 

Counteth her gold. 



If I, i ■ . 










1 i 



CATCHING THE CAT. 45 

Meek, little Dandelion 

Groweth more fair, 
Till dies the amber dew 

Out from her hair. 
High rides the thirsty sun, 

Fiercely and high ; 
Faint little Dandelion 

Cltfseth her eye. 

Pale little Dandelion, 

In her white shroud, 
Heareth the angel-breeze 

Call from the cloud! 
Tiny plumes fluttering 

Make no delay ! 
Little winged Dandelion 

Soareth away. 

— Helen B. Bostwick. 



CATCHING THE CAT. 

THE mice had been in council ; 
They all looked haggard and worn, 
For the state of things was too terrible 

To be any longer borne. 
Not a family out of mourning — 
There was crape on every, hat. 
They were desperate : something must be done 
And done at once, to the cat. 



46 CATCHING THE CAT. 

An elderly member rose and said, 

"At might prove a possible thing 
To set the trap which they set for us — 

That one with the awful spring ! " 
The suggestion was applauded 

Loudly, by one and all, 
Till somebody squeaked, " That trap would be 

About ninety-five times too small ! " 



Then a medical mouse suggested — 

A little under his breath — 
They should confiscate the very first mouse 

That died a natural death ; 
And he'd undertake to poison the cat, 

If they'd let him prepare that mouse. 
" There's not been a natural death," they shrieked, 

" Since the cat came into the house ! " 



The smallest mouse in the council 

Arose with a solemn air, 
And, by way of increasing his statuiv 

Rubbed up his whiskers and hair. 
He waited until there was silence 

All along the pantry shelf, 
And then he said with dignity, 

" / will catch the cat myself ! 



CATCHING THE CAT. 47 



" When next I hear her coining, 

Instead of running away, 
I shall turn and face her boldly, 

And pretend to be' at play : 
She will not see her danger, 

Poor creature ! I suppose ; 
But as she stoops to catch me 

1 shall catch her by the nose ! " 



The mice began to look hopeful, 

Yes, even the old ones, when 
A gray-haired sage said slowly, 

" And what will you do with her then ? " 

The champion, disconcerted, 
Replied with dignity, " Well, 

I think, if you'll all excuse me, 
'Twould be wiser not to tell. 



"We all have our inspirations — " 

This produced a general smirk, 
"But we are not all at liberty 

To explain just how they'll work. 
I ask you, then, to trust me : 

You need have no further fears — 
Consider our enemy done for!" 

The council gave three cheers. 



48 CATCHING THE CAT. 

" I do believe she's coming ! " 

Said a small mouse nervously. 
" Run, if you like,' 7 said the champion, 

"But / shall wait and see!" 
And sure enough she was coming; 

The mice all scampered away 
Except the noble champion 

Who had made up his mind to stay. 



The mice had faith — of course they had- 

They were all of them noble souls, 
But a sort of general feeling 

Kept them safely in their holes 
Until some time in the evening ; 

Then the boldest ventured out, 
And saw, happily in the distance, 

The cat prance gayly about ! 



There was dreadful consternation, 

Till some one at last said, " Oh, 
He's not had time to do it — 

Let us not prejudge him so ! " 
" I believe in him, of course I do," 

Said the nervous mouse with a sigh, 
" But the cat looks uncommonly happy, 

And I wish I did know whv ! " 



THE LIFE LEDGER. 4Q 

The cat, I regret to mention, 

Still prances about that house, 
And no message, letter, or telegram 

Has come from the champion mouse. 
The mice are a little discouraged; 

The demand for crape goes on ; 
They feel they'd be happier if they knew 

Where the champion mouse had gone. 

This story has a moral — 

It is very short, you see, 
So no one, of course, will skip it, 

For fear of offending me. 
It is well to be courageous, 

And valiant, and all that, 
But — if you are mice — you'd better think twice 

Before you catch the cat. 

— Margaret Vandegrift. 

THE LIFE LEDGER. 

OUR sufferings we reckon o'er 
With skill minute and formal ; 
The cheerful ease that fills the score 

We treat as merely normal. 
Our list of ills, how full, how great! 

We mourn our lot should fall so. 
I wonder do we calculate 
Our happinesses also ? 



SO WHAT WE FIND. THE SECRET. 

Were it not best to keep account 

Of all days if of any? 
Perhaps the dark ones might amount 

To not so very many. 
Men's looks are nigh as often gay 

As sad or even solemn : 
Behold, my entry for to-day 

Is in the " happy " column. 

— Harper's Bazaar, 



WHAT WE FIND. 

DO not look for wrong and evil ; 
You will find them if you do ; 
As you measure to your neighbor, 
He will measure back to you. 



Look for goodness, look for gladness, 
You will meet them all the while ; 

If you bring a smiling visage 
To the odass, you meet a smile. 

y 

THE SECRET. 

AH, dainty, dainty rose ! 
How did you come to be 
The sweet and precious thing 
That here to-day I see ? 




V ^ 



THE SECRET. 53 

Ah, sweet and passionate rose, 

Thy secret now impart; 
I listen and I wait 

Above thy fragrant heart. 



Ah, pure and perfect rose ! 

Glowing and yet serene ; 
I crave thy balanced joy, 

What does thy beauty mean ? 



A little tender stir — 
I heard as in a dream : 

"We roses wait God's time, 
However long it seem. 



" Where he hath planted us 
We grow as he doth will ; 

And show our love for Him 
By simply standing still. 



"And so He giveth us 

Color, and form, and grace ; 

And sudden, unaware, 
We glorify the place." 

— Christian Union. 



54 A POUND, SIR ! 

A POUND, SIR ! 

THE good ship lies fast at her mooring, 
Keel, rudder, bows, stern, spars — complete, 
And white waves with eager alluring 

Spread ermine robes just at her feet ; 
A wind from the westward is speeding 

To lift the broad sails — but, behold ! 
Some secret flaw still is impeding 

The launch of the vessel ; and old, 
Wise builders stand speechless with wonder, 

And bodings, for never before 
Was known this strange failure to sunder 

The spurs of a ship from the shore ! 

Yet while the whole crowd idly gazes 

In helpless astonishment, lo ! 
A little lad suddenly raises 

His voice, saying, " Captain, I know 
I'm small, but then, when I'm standing — 

A pound, sir, I push, at the least!" 
And running right clown to the landing 

Before the loud laughter has ceased, 
The eager child presses his shoulder 

Against the broad side of the ship, 
When, presto ! the slight bonds that hold her 

Give way ! and the supple bows dip 
Anon, with a free, graceful motion 

The waters that woo her with song ; 
And now to the broad, boundless ocean 

Her strength and her beauty belong ! 



AN AIM IN LIFE. ONE THING AT A TIME. 55 

For you see it was only " a pound, sir," 

That measured, just then, the ship's need ; 
And the brave little "wide awake" found, sir, 

The right point of pressure ! — indeed, 
In our world, just such helpers are wanted — 

Such tiny feet ready and swift, 
For often a child's faith undaunted 

The gravest of burdens may lift ! 



AN AIM IN LIFE. 

THOUGH our lot be calm and bright — 
Though upon our brows we wear 
Youth, and grace, and beauty rare, 
And the hours go swiftly singing in their flight; 
If we let no glory down 
Any darkened life to crow r n — 
If our grace and joyance have no ministry for 

pain, 
We have lived our life in vain. 



ONE THING AT A TIME. 

WORK while you work, 
Play while you play ; 
That is the way 
To be cheerful and gay. 



56 THEY DIDN'T THINK. 

All that you do, 

Do with your might : 

Things done by halves 
Are never done right. 



One thing each time, 
And that done well, 

Is a very good rule, 
As many can tell. 



Moments are useless 

Trifled away j 
So work while vou work, 

And play while you play. 

— M. A. Stodart. 



THEY DIDN'T THINK. 

ONCE a trap was baited 
With a piece of cheese : 
It tickled so a little mouse 

It almost made him sneeze. 
An old rat said " There's clanger ! 

Be careful where you go ! " 
" Nonsense ! " said the other, 

I don't think you know ! " 
So he walked in boldly — 

Nobody in sight ; 



THEY DIDNT THINK. 57 

First he took a nibble, 

Then he took a bite ; 
Close the trap together 

Snapped as quick as wink, 
Catching Mousey fast there, 

'Cause he didn't think. 



Once a little turkey, 

Fond of her own way, 
Wouldn't ask the old ones 

Where to go or stay ; 
She said, " I'm not a baby ; 

Here I am half grown ; 
Surely I am big enough 

To run about alone ; " 
Off she went, but somebody, 

Hiding, saw her pass ; 
Soon like snow her feathers 

Covered all the grass. 
So she made a supper, 

For a sly young mink, 
'Cause she was so headstrong 

That she wouldn't think. 



Once there was a robin 
Lived outside the door, 

Who wanted to go inside 
And hop upon the floor. 



58 THEY DIDN'T THINK. 

"Oh no," said the mother, 

" You must stay with me ; 
Little birds are safest 

Sitting in a tree," 
" I don't care," said Robin, 

And gave his tail' a fling ; 
" I don't think the old folks 

Know quite everything." 
Down he flew, and Kitty seized him, 

Before he'd time to blink. 
" Oh," he cried, " I'm sorry ! 

But I didn't think." 



Now, my little children, 

You who read this song, 
Don't you see what trouble 

Comes of thinking wrong? 
And can't you take a warning 

From their dreadful fate, 
Who began their thinking 

When it was too late ? 
Don't think there's always safety 

Where no danger shows; 
Don't suppose you know more 

Than anybody knows ; 
But when you're warned of ruin, 

Pause upon the brink, 
And don't go under headlong 

'Cause you didn't think. 

— Phoebe Carv. 



THAT DROPPED STITCH. 59 

THAT DROPPED STITCH. 



A 



LITTLE old woman 
With silver-rimmed " specs,'' 
Quite daintily dressed 

In the cleanest of checks, 
Was sitting alone in a tower, so high 
That it seemed like a needle piercing the sky. 

' There she had sat 

For — oh, ever so long ! 
Knitting and singing 
A sweet little song. 
And she said, while her face was all puckered 

with smiles, 
" I'll soon have enough, for I've knit twenty 
miles. " 

She had needles all round her 

And yarn in her shoe, 
And she had a partic- 
ular object in view. 
Being awfully tired of perpetual sitting, 
She meant to climb down on her long piece of 
knitting. 

The knitting hangs free 

From the wide-open casement ; 

The end of it reaches 
Almost to the basement. 



60 THAT DROPPED STITCH. 

She cheerfully knits, and remarks as she sings: 
" By means of this knitting I'll do without wings." 

Of the world far beneath her 

She knew not a bit, 
But she said to herself 
With a good deal of wit : 
" If no better than this place, it cannot be worse," 
So continued her knitting, and singing her verse. 

At last, she got near 

To the end of her work ; 
The swift needles flew 
In and out, with a jerk, 
When seme knot in the worsted producing a hitch. 
This cheerful and pleasant old woman dropped 
a stitch. 



Now, a great many persons 

Are apt to suppose 
That dropping one stitch — 

Which you know, hardly shows — 
Should be a small matter quite easy to shirk ; 
And so the old lady went on with her work. 

She finished her line, 

Never minding her error; 

Tied it fast, and then started, 
When, oh ! to her terror, 



THE SWISS " GOOD-NIGHT." 6l 

It began, where the stitch had been dropped, to 

unravel, 
And rapidly down toward the earth did she travel ! 

At first fast, and then faster, 

The knitting unwound, 
And faster and faster 
She fell to the ground, 
Whirled' over and over and heavily dropped. 
Poor soul ! How she wished on the window she'd 
stopped ! 

So, children, be thorough, 

Whatever you do, 
For a similar trouble 
Might happen to you. 
In performing your duties don't offer to shirk, 
But be careful no stitches are dropped in your 
work. 

— R. S. T. 



THE SWISS " GOOD-NIGHT." 

NOW somber-hued twilight adown the Swiss 
valley 
Her soft, dewy mantle has silently spread, 
Still kissed by the sun-rays, how grandly and 
brightly 
The snowy-crowned summits lift far overhead ! 



62 THE SWISS " GOOD-NIGHT." 

'Tis the sweet u Alpine hour," when the night is 

descending 

To brood o'er the homes where the cottagers 

dwell ; 

And the sweet Kanz des Vaches no longer is blending 

With silence — 'tis evening, the time of farewell. 



And yet once again the huntsman is taking 
His trumpet-toned horn from its hook o'er the 
door. 

Hark! All the rapt silence its music is waking — 
"Praise the Lord God, evermore! — eve? more!" 



Clear, sharp and distinct, down the mountains 
repeating, 
In solemn succession voice answereth voice, 
Till e'en the lost chamois will hush his wild 
bleating, 
And the heart of the forest awake and rejoice. 



Still higher and higher the anthem is ringing, 
It rolls like a paean of triumph above, 

Till ev'ry grand summit and tall peak is singing, 
While bathed in the smile and the halo of love! 



O magical hour ! O soul-offered duty ! 
So solemn, instructive, its noble refrain; 



THE SHADOWS. 63 

What an exquisite scene, where God's rainbow of 
beailty 
Speaks the language of promise to mortals again ! 

And when all the glory of sunset has faded 
From cloud-piercing heights, and the stars twinkle 
out, 

How mellow the echo of "Good-night," repeated 
To ev'ry lone dwelling with musical shout ! 



The chain of affection to God and each other 

So perfectly linking and welding aright : 
When fondly the accents — ' Hail, neighbor and 
brother ! " 
Melt in the broad air with — "Good-night, friend, 
g-o-o-d-n-i-g-h-t ! " 

— George B. Griffith. 

THE SHADOWS. 

MY little boy with pale, round cheeks, 
And large, brown, dreamy eyes, 
Not often little wisehead speaks, 
But yet will make replies. 

His sister, always glad to show 
Her knowledge, for its praise, 



64 THE SHADOWS. 

Said yesterday: "God's here, you know; 
He's everywhere, always. 

" He's in this room." His large brown eyes 
Went wandering round for God ; 

In vain he looks, in vain he tries, 
His wits are all abroad. 

"He is not here, mamma? No, no; 

I do not see him at all, 
He's not the shadows, is he ? " So 

His doubtful accents fall. 



Fall on my heart, like precious seed, 
Grow up to flowers of love ; 

For as my child, in love and need, 
Am I to Him above. 



How oft before the vapors break, 

And day begins to be, 
In our dim-lighted rooms we take 

The shadows, Lord, for Thee; — 

While every shadow lying there. 

Slow remnant of the night, 
Is but an aching, longing prayer, 

For Thee, O Lord, the light. 

— George MacDonald. 



SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS. 6j 

SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS. 

TWO children stood at their father's gate, 
Two girls with golden hair, 
And their eyes were bright, and their voices glad, 

Because the morn was fair ; 
For they said, "We will take that long, long- 
walk 
To the hawthorn copse to-day, 
And gather great bunches of lovely flowers 

From off the scented way; 
And oh ! we shall be so happy there 
'Twill be sorrow to come away ! " 

As the children spoke a little cloud 

Passed slowly across the sky, 
And one looked up in her sister's face 

With a tear-drop in her eye. 
But the other said, u Oh ! heed it not, 

'Tis far too fair to rain, 
That little cloud may search the sky 

For other clouds in vain." 
And soon the children's voices rose 

In merriment again. 



But ere the morning hours had waned 
The sky had changed its hue, 

And that one cloud had chased away 
The whole great heaven of blue. 



68 SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS. 

The rain fell down in heavy drops, 

The wind began to blow, 
And the children, in their nice, warm room, 

Went fretting to and fro ; 
For they said, " When we have aught in store 

It always happens so ! " 



Now these two fair-haired sisters 

Had a brother out at sea, 
A little midshipman, aboard 

The gallant Victory ; 
And on that self-same morning 

When they stood beside the gate 
His ship was wrecked, and on a raft 

He stood all desolate, 
With the other sailors round him, 

Prepared to meet their fate. 



Beyond, they saw the cool, green land, 

The land with the waving trees, 
And her little brooks, that rise and fall 

Like butterflies to the breeze. 
But above them the burning noontide sun 

With scorching stillness shone; 
Their throats were parched with bitter thirst, 

And they knelt down one by one, 
And prayed to God for a drop of rain. 

And a gale to waft them on. 



OVER THE HILL. yi 



And then that little cloud was sen:, 

That shower in mercy given, 
And as a bird before the breeze 

Their bark was landward driven. 
And some few mornings after. 

When the children met once more. 
And their brother told the story. 

They knew it was the hour 
When they had wished for sunshine, 

And God had sent the shower ! 



T 



OVER THE HILL. 

■RAVE I LER. what lies over the hill ? 
Traveller, tell to me : 
I am only a child — from the window-sill 
Over I cannot see." 



" Child, there "s a valley over there. 

Pretty and wooded and shy : 
And a little brook that says, ' Take care, 

Or I '11 drown vou bv and bv.' " 



" And what comes next ? " " A little town, 

And a towering hill again ; 
Those hills and valleys, up and down, 

And a river now and then." 



72 OVER THE HILL. 

" And what comes next ? " " A lonely moor 

Without a beaten way ; 
And gray clouds sailing slow before 

A wind that will not stay." 

" And then ?" " Dark rocks and yellow sand, 

And a moaning sea beside." 
" And then? " " More sea, more sea, more land, 

And rivers deep and wide." 

" And then ? " " O, rock and mountain and vale, 

Rivers and fields and men, 
Over and over — a weary tale — • 

And round to your home again." 

" And is that all ? Have you told the best ? " 
" No, neither the best nor the end. 

On summer eves, away in the west, 
You will see a stair ascend. 

"Built of all colors of lovely stones, — 

A stair up into the sky, 
Where no one is weary, and no one morose, 

Or wants to be laid by." 

" I will go." " But the steps are very steep; 

If you would climb up there, 
You must lie at the foot, as still as sleep, 

A very step of the stair." 

— George Mac Donald. 



I 



INO AND UNO. 73 

INO AND UNO. 

NO and Uno are two little boys 
Who always are ready to fight, 
Because each will boast 
That he knows the most, 

And the other one cannot be right. 

Ino and Uno went into the woods, 
Quite certain of knowing the way ; 
" I am right ! You are wrong ! " 
They said, going along, 
And they did n't get out till next day ! 

Ino and Uno rose up with the lark, 
To angle awhile in the brook, 

But by contrary signs 

They entangled their lines, 
And brought nothing home to the cook ! 

Ino and Uno went out on the lake, 
And oh, they got dreadfully wet ! 

While discussion prevailed 

They carelessly sailed, 
And the boat they were in was upset ! 

Though each is entitled opinions to have, 
They need not be foolishly strong ; 
And to quarrel and fight 
Over what we think right, 
Is, you know, and I know, quite wrong! 

— -Josephine Pollard. 



74 THE SWAN AND THE CROWS. 

THE SWAN AND THE CROWS. 

CLAD in plumage white as snow, 
On a lake a Swan was sailing : 
On the margin stood a Crow, 
At the stately creature railing : 



" Pretty goose you look, I 'm sure, 
In your glaring featners, madam ! 

Call them chaste, forsooth, and pure ! 
Should be sorrv if I had 'em." 



So the saucy Crow went on, 

Of the swimmer's beauty jealous, 

Calling to behold the Swan 
Quite a dozen of her fellows. 



Then, while some began to prate 
In their vulgar Crowish chatter, 

Some were mimicking her gait ; 
Others making faces at her. 



But the noble-minded bird 

Calmly floated past the rabble, 

Deigning not to say a word. 
In reply to all their gabble. 



THE SWAN AND THE CROWS. 75 

Cried an ugly-looking Crow, 

Very old and verv sooty ; 
" See, there 's some black mud below ; 

Let us paint the pretty beauty! " 

So, to vent their envious ire, 

Filling up their beaks, they fluttered 

Round their victim, and the mire 
O'er her plumage thickly sputtered. 

Then the old, malicious jade, 

Seeing their success in tainting 
All the fair white feathers, said : 

" We are first-rate hands at painting ! " 

When at last the work was done 

To the painters' satisfaction, 
To the bank they one by one 

Flew to chuckle o'er their action. 

But the meek, insulted Swan, 

Diving down beneath the water, 
Rose, as they were looking on, 

Fairer than they ever thought her — 

Saying: "You perceive, the slime 
That you dabbled in, poor creatures, 

Serves at present to begrime. 

Not myself, but your own features." 



76 duke Leopold's stone. 

Human crows, with slander's mud, 
Vainly smear your reputation : 

Truth will prove the cleansing flood 
To undo the operation. 



DUKE LEOPOLD'S STONE. 



THERE was once a great Duke Leopold, 
Who had wit and wisdom, as well as gold, 
And used all three in a liberal way 
For the good of his people, the stories say. 
To see precisely what they would do, 
And how nearly a notion of his came true, 
He went from his palace one night alone — 
When a brooding storm and starless skies 
Hid his secret from prying eyes — 
And sat midway in the road a stone. 
It was not too big for a man to move — 
The Duke was confident on that score ; 
Yet the weight of the thing was enough to 

prove 
The strength of one's muscle — and something 

more. 
" Something more," laughed the Duke, as he strode 
Through wind and rain on his homeward road : 
" This time to-morrow I reckon will show 
If a notion of mine is correct or no." 



DUKE LEOPOLDS STONE. 77 

From a window high in the palace wall, 

o.ie watched next day for the passers-by, 

And grimly smiled as they one and all, 

Where they found the stone, left the stone to lie. 

A lumbering ox-cart came along, 

And Hans, the driver, was stout and strong, 

One sturdy shove with the right intent 

Would have cleared the track of impediment; 

But whatever appears to be needless work, 

Or work that another might possibly do, 

Hans made it a point of duty to shirk. 

He stopped his team for a minute or two, 

And scratched his head as he looked about 

For the easiest way of getting out : 

Then — "Lucky for me that the road is wide/' 

He lazily murmured, and drove aside. 



The next that came was a grenadier 

Bustling in scarlet and gold array ; 

And he whistled a tune both loud and clear, 

But he took no note of the rock in his way. 

When its ragged edges scraped his knee — 

" Thunder and lightning ! what's this ? " says he. 

" Haven't the blockheads sense enough 

To clear the road of this sort of stuff ? 

A pretty thing for a grenadier 

To stumble against, and bark his shins ! 

If I knew the rascal that planted it here — 

Yes, surely ! I'd make him see his sins." 



j8 duke Leopold's stone. 

He clanked his sworcl, and he tossed his plume, 
And he strutted away in a terrible fume ; 
Bur as for moving the stone — not he ! — 
" It is just," said the Duke, " as I thought it would 
be." 



A little later, still watching there, 

He spied on their way to the village Fair, 

A troop of merchants, each with his pack 

Strapped on a well-fed animal's back. 

" Now let us see," with a nod of his head 

And a merry twinkle, His Highness said : 

" Perhaps this worshipful multitude 

Will lend a hand for the public good." 

But alack ! the company, man and horse, 

Hardly paused in their onward course. 

Instead of cantering four abreast, 

Two by two they went east and west ; 

And when they had left the stone behind — 

"To think of a thing like that," said they, 

" Blocking the high-road for half a day ! " 

It never reached the collective mind 

In the light of a matter that implied 

Some possible claim on the other side. 



So a week, and two, and three slipped past 
The rock in the road lay bedded fast, 
And the people grumbling went and came, 
Each with a tongue that was glib to blame, 






DUKE LEOPOLD'S STONE. 79 

But none with a hand to help. At last 
Duke Leopold, being quite content 
With the issue of his experiment, 
Ordered his herald to sound a blast, 
And summon his subjects far and near 
A word from his high-born lips to hear. 
From far and near at the trumpet call, 
They gathered about the palace wall, 
And the Duke, at the head of a glittering train, 
Rode through the ranks of wondering eyes 
To the spot where the stone so long had lain. 
I will leave you to picture their blank surprise, 
When he leaped from his horse with a smiling 

face, 
And royal hands pushed the stone from its 

place ! 

But the stare of amazement became despair 
When the Duke stooped down with his gra- 
cious air, 
And took from a hollow the rock had hid 
A casket shut with a graven lid. 
The legend upon it he read aloud 
To a silent, and very crest-fallen crowd : — 
" This box is for him, and for him alone 
Who takes the trouble to move this stone." 
Then he raised the lid, and they saw the 

shine 
Of a golden ring, and a purse of gold ; 
" Which might have been yours,'' said Duke 
Leopold, 



80 SHALL THE BABY STAY ? 

" But now I regret to say is mine. 
It was I who for reasons of my own 
Hindered your highway with the stone. 
What the reasons were you have doubtless 

guessed 
Before this time. And as for the rest, 
I think there is nothing more to say, 
My dear good friends, I wish you good-day ! " 
He mounted his horse, and the glittering 

train 
After their leader galloped again. 
With sound of trumpet and gleam of gold 
Thev flashed through the ranks of downcast 

eyes, 
And the crowd went home feeling rather 

"soli" 
— Per-haps, however, a lesson lies 
In the story, that none of us need despise. 

— From, St, Nicholas, 



SHALL THE BABY STAY? 

IN a little brown house, 
With scarce room for a mouse, 
Came, with morning's first ray, 
One remarkable day, 
(Though who told her the way 
I 'm sure I can't say), 
A young lady so wee 
That you scarcely could see 



SHALL THE BABY STAY? 

Her small speck of a nose ; 
And, to speak of her toes, — 
Though it seems hardly fair. 
Since they surely were there ; 
Keep them covered we must,- 
You must take them on trust. 



■¥%• 



Now this little brown house, 
With scarce room for a mouse, 
Was quite full of small boys, 
With their books and their toys, 
Their wild bustle and noise. 

" My dear lads," quoth papa, 
" We 're too many, by far ; 
Tell us what we can do 
With this damsel so blue ? 



82 SHALL THE BABY STAY ? 

We 've no room for her here ; 
So to me 'tis quite clear, 
Though it gives me great pain, 
I must hang her again 
On the tree whence she came — 
(Do not cry, there 's no blame), 
With her white blanket round her, 
Just as Nurse Russell found her." 



Said stout little Ned, 
"I '11 stay all day in bed, 
Squeezed up nice and small, 
Very close to the wall." 



Then spoke Tommy : " I '11 go 
To the cellar below ; 
I '11 just travel about, 
But not try to get out 
Till you 're all fast asleep, 
Then up-stairs I '11 creep ; 
And so quiet I '11 be 
You'll not dream it's me." 



Then flaxen-haired Will : 
" I '11 be dreffully still ; 
On the back stairs I '11 stay, 
Way off, out of way." 



A TRIUMPH. 8$ 

Master Johnny, the fair, 
Shook his bright, curly hair : 
" Here 's a nice place for me, 
Dear papa, do you see ? 
I just fit in so tight 
I could stand here all night/*' 
And a niche in the wall 
Held his figure so small. 

Quoth the father : " Well clone, 
My brave darlings ! come on ! 
Here 's a shoulder for Will, 
Pray sit still, sir, sit still ; 
Valiant Thomas, for thee 
A good seat on my knee ; 
And Edward, thy brother, 
Can perch on the other : 
Baby John, take my back, 
Now, who says we can "t pack ? 

" So, love gives us room, 

And our birdie shall stay. 
We '11 keep her, my boys, 

Till God takes her away." 

A TRIUMPH. 

LITTLE Roger up the long slope rushing 
Through the rustling corn, 
Showers of dewdrops from the broad leaves brushing 
In the early morn, 



84 A TRIUMPH. 

At his sturdy little shoulder bearing 

For a banner gay, 
Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring 

In the wind away ! 

Up he goes, the summer sunshine flushing 

O'er him in his race, 
Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing 

On his radiant face. 



If he can but set his standard glorious 

On the hill-top low, 
Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious, 

All the world aglow J 



So he pressed on with childish ardor, 

Almost at the top ! 
Hasten, Roger ! Does the way grow harder ? 

Wherefore do you stop ? 



From below the corn-stalks tall and slender 

Comes a plaintive cry — 
Turns he for an instant from the splendor 

Of the crimson sky, 



Wavers, then goes flying toward the hollow, 
Calling loud and clear : 



A TRIUMPH. 85 

" Coming, Jenny ! Oh, why did you follow ? 
Do n't you cry, my dear ! " 

Small Janet sits weeping 'mid the daisies ; 

" Little sister sweet, 
Must you' follow Roger ? " Then he raises 

Babv on her feet, 



Guides her tiny steps with kindness tender, 

Cheerfully and gay, 
All his courage and his strength would lend her 

Up the uneven way, 

Till they front the blazing East together ; 

But the sun has rolled 
Up the sky in the still summer weather, 

Flooding them with gold. 



All forgotten is the boy's ambition, 

Low the standard lies, 
Still they stand, and gaze — a sweeter vision 

Ne'er met mortal eyes. 

That was splendid, Roger, that was glorious, 

Thus to help the weak; 
Better than to plant your flag victorious 

On earth's highest peak ! 

— Celia I'haxter. 



86 the children's hour. 

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 

BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to lower, 
Comes a pause in the day's occupations 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamp-light, 

Descending the broad hall stair, 
Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, 

And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence ; 

Yet I know by their merry eyes 
They are plotting and planning together 

To take me by surprise. 



A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall ! 

By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall ! 

They climb up into my turret 

O'er the arms and back of my chair; 



I 



WHICH LOVED BEST ? 87 

If I try to escape, they surround me ; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 

Their arms about me entwine, 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen, 

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old moustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ? 

I have you fast in my fortress, 

And will not let you depart, 
But put you down into the dungeon 

In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away ! 

— Henry W. Longfellow. 



WHICH LOVED BEST? 

LOVE you, mother," said little John : 
Then, forgetting his work, his cap went 
on, 



88 WHICH LOVED BEST ? 

And he was off to the garden swing, 

And left her the water and wood to brin£. 



" I love yon, mother," said rosy Nell, — 
" Love you better . than tongue can tell ; " 
Then she teased and pouted full half the day, 
Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play. 



" I love you, mother," said little Fan ; 
" To-day I '11 help you all I can ; 
How glad I am school does n't keep ! " 
So she rocked the babe till it fell asleep. 



Then, stepping softly, she fetched the broom 
And swept the floor and tidied the room; 
Busy and happy all day was she, 
Helpful and happy as child could be. 



" I love you, mother," again they said, 
Three little children going to bed. 
How do you think that mother guessed 
Which of them really loved her best ? 

— Joy Allison. 



LEARN A LITTLE EVERY DAY. 91 

LEARN A LITTLE EVERY DAY. 

LITTLE rills make wider streamlets, 
Streamlets swell, the rivers flow ; 
Rivers join the mountain billows, 

Onward as they go ! 
Life is made of smaller fragments, 

Shade and sunshine, work and play ; 
So may w r e, with greater profit, 
' Learn a little every day. 

Tiny seeds make boundless .harvests, 

Drops of rain compose the showers, 
Seconds make the flying minutes, 

And the minutes make the hours. 
Let us hasten then, and catch them 

As they pass us on the way, 
And with honest, true endeavor, 

Learn a little every day. 

Let us read some striking passage, ■ 

Cull a verse from every page, 
Here a line and there a sentence, 

'Gainst the lonely time of age. 
At our work, or by the wayside, 

While the sun shines making hay, 
Thus we may, by help of study, 

Learn a little every day. 

— Anon. 



9 2 ONLY. ADVICE. 

ONLY. 

IT was only a little blossom, 
Just the merest bit of bloom, 
But it brought a glimpse of summer 
To the little darkened room. 

It was only a glad " good-morning," 
As she passed along the way ; 

But it spread the morning's glory 
Over the livelong day. 

Only a song, but the music, 
Though simply pure and sweet, 

Brought back to better pathways 
The reckless, roving feet. 

Only ! In our blind wisdom 
How dare we say it at all, 

Since the ages alone can tell us 
Which is the great or small ? 

— Carlotta Perry. 

ADVICE. 

DO thy little, do it well, 
Do what right and reason tell; 
Do thy little, God has made 
Million leaves for forest shade ; 



THE LITTLE RUNAWAY. 93 

Smallest stars their glory bring, 
God employeth everything. 
All the little thou hast done, 
Little battles thou hast won, 
Little masteries achieved, 
Little wants with care relieved, 
Little words in love expressed, 
Little wrongs at once confessed, 
Little favors kindly done, 
Little toils thou didst not shun, 
Little graces meekly worn, 
Little • slights with patience borne, — 
These are treasures that shall rise 
Far beyond the smiling skies. 

— Anon. 



THE LITTLE RUNAWAY. 



THE church was dim and silent 
With the hush before the prayer; 
Only the solemn trembling 
Of the organ stirred the air. 



Without, the sweet, still sunshine ; 

Within, the holy calm, 
Where priest and people waited 

For the swelling of the psalm. 



94 THE LITTLE RUNAWAY. 

Slowly the door swung open, 

And a little baby girl, 
Brown-eyed, with brown hair falling 

In many a wavy curl, — 

With soft cheeks flushing hotly, 
Shy glances downward thrown, 

And small hands clasped before her 
Stood in the aisle alone ; 

Stood half abashed, half-frightened, 
Unknowing where to go, 

While like a wind-rocked flower 
Her form swayed to and fro ! 

And the changing color fluttered 
In her troubled little face, 

As from side to side she wavered 
With a mute, imploring grace. 

It was but for a moment, 
What wonder that we smiled, 

By such a strange, sweet picture 
From holy thoughts beguiled ? 

Then up rose some one softly, 
And many an eye grew dim, 

As through the tender silence 
He bore the child with him. 



CHILDHOOD S HOURS. 95 

And I — I wondered (losing 

The sermon and the prayer) 
If, when sometime I enter 

The " many mansions " fair, 

And stand abashed and drooping, 

In the portals' golden glow, 
Our God will send his angel 

To show me where to go ! 

— Julia C. J?. Dorr. 



CHILDHOOD'S HOURS. 

UP in the blue and starry sky 
A group of Hours one even 
Met, as they took their upward flight 
Into the highest heaven. 



And they were going there to tell 
Of all that had been done 

By little children, good or bad, 
Since the last risen sun. 



And some had gold and purple wings, 
Some drooped like faded flowers, 

And sadly went to tell the tale 
That they were misspent Hours. 



96 childhood's hours. 

Some glowed with rosy hopes and smiles, 
And some shed many a tear; 

Others had some kind words and acts 
To carry upward there. 



A shining Hour, with lovely plumes, 

Went up to tell a deed 
Of kindness which a gentle child 

Had done to one in need. 



And one was bearing up a prayer 
A little boy had said, . 

Full of humility and love, 
While kneeling by his bed. 



And thus they glided on, and gave 

Their tidings, dark and bright, 

To Him who marks each passing hour 

Of childhood's clay and night. 



Remember, children of the earth, 

Each Hour is on its way, 
Bearing its own report to heaven 

Of all you do and say. 

— Mrs. Gordon. 



Leonardo's bird cages. 97 

NO SURRENDER. 

EVER constant, ever true, 
Let the word be 

No surrender ! 
Boldly dare and greatly do, 
This shall bring us bravely through : 

No surrender ! No surrender ! 
And though future's smiles be few, 
Hope is always springing new, 
Still inspiring me and you 
With the magic — No surrender ! 

Constant and courageous still, 
Mind, the word is 

No surrender ! 
Battle, though it be up hill, 
Stagger not at seeming ill ; 

No surrender ! No surrender ! 
* Hope, and thus our hope fulfil ; 
There's a way where there's a will; 
And the way all care to kill 
Is to give them — No surrender! 

LEONARDO'S BIRD CAGES. 

ONCE, in a city, long ago, — 
Milan's its name, if you'd like to know, 
(Out with your atlases, dears, and find 
Just where the place is, so you'll mind,) 



98 Leonardo's bird cages. 

Lived there a famous artist, who 
Painted, and carved, and sculptured too, 
Better than any in that old day, — 
Better than any now they say. 



If you should ever chance to take 
(Many a little "Wide Awake" 
Certainly will!) a foreign tour, 
When you're in Milan, you'll be sure 
There to be shown, its colors dim, 
One of the pictures drawn by him, — 
Christ's Last Supper; and if your eyes 
Fill, as you gaze on it, no surprise 
Ought to be either yours or mine, 
Over a face that's so divine. 



Then, if you go to Paris, — there 

In the great Louvre gallery, where 

Pictures are hung, they'll point you out 

One that the world goes mad about. 

Oh, such a portrait I all the while 

It holds and haunts you with its smile — 

Beautiful Moiia Sisa ! She 

Couldn't be bought for gold, you see — 

Not if a king should come to buy 

Her as she sits there : let him try ! 

"What is the reason?" Because no face 
Ever was painted with a grace 



Leonardo's bird cages. ioi 

Equal to this. But here's the thing 
For which I have kept you listening 
Rather too long. 



He used to go — 
This painter of whom I'd have you know — 
Down to the market where they sold 
Cages of birds all gay with gold, 
Crimson and blue, on wing and crest, 
Trapped as they just would leave the nest. 
Thither he wandered day by day, 
Buying each cage within his way, 
Making the ragged peasants glad, 
Since they could sell him all they had, 
Nor did it matter what his store, 
Still he was always buying more. 



"Why did he want so many?" Well, 
Darlings, that's just what I'm going to tell. 
Instantly, soon as he bought a bird, 
Over his up-turned head was heard, 
Oh, such a trill ! so glad, so high, 
Dropping right out of the sunny sky 
Into his heart, as naught else could, 
Filling it full, as there he stood, 
Holding the open wicker door, 
Watching with joy the bright wings soar 
Into the blue. " You know now ? " He 
Wanted them only to set them free ! 



102 



IN SCHOOL-DAYS. 



" Why do I love Leonardo so ? " 

Not for his rare, grand pictures, — no ! 

But for his sweet, great soul so stirred 

Just by a little, prisoned bird. 

Wide Awake. 




OLD AND NEW. 103 

OLD AND NEW. 

WE are passing another mile-stone, 
Another school-year's done; 
One more chapter of life is written 
A few more threads are spun, 



Life's a journey, a school, a story, 
Our best it doth demand ; 

*Tis a fabric; it should be woven 
With steadfast heart and hand 



But weVe faltered, half-learned our lessons, 

The story who will read ? 
And we've carelessly marred life's texture, 

A record poor indeed. 



Yet our errors, our failures shall be 
At length our best success; 

If we store up their choicest teachings. 
For future helpfulness. 



We have trodden the old year's pathway, 

We enter on the new; 
God hath brightened them both with mercies, 

To Him all praise is due. 



104 LITTLE WHITE LILY. 

Let us study the matchless story. 

The life-work of His son, 
Till the volume of life is finished, 

Until the web is spun. 

— Journal of Education, 

LITTLE WHITE LILY. 

LITTLE white Lily 
Sat by a stone, 
Drooping and waiting 
Till the sun shone. 
Little white Lily 

Sunshine has fed ; 
Little white Lily 
Is lifting her head. 

Little white Lily 

Said, " Jt is good — 
Little white Lily's 

Clothing and food." 
- Little white Lily 

Drest like a bride ! 
Shining with whiteness, 

And crowned beside ! 

Little white Lily 

Droopet'h with pain, 
Waiting and waiting 

For the wet rain. 



A NUT TO CRACK. IO7 

Little white Lily 

Holdeth her cup ; 
Rain is fast falling 

And filling it up. 

Little white Lily 

Said, " Good again — 
When I am thirsty 

To have fresh rain ! 
Now I am stronger ; 

Now 7 I am cool ; 
Heat cannot burn me, 

My veins are so full." 

Little white Lily 

Smells very sweet : 
On her head sunshine, 

Rain at her feet. 
" Thanks to the sunshine, 

Thanks to the rain! 
Little white Lily 

Is happy again ! " 

— George MacDonald. 

A NUT TO CRACK. 

THERE was an old woman who lived in a hut 
About the size of a hickory nut ; 
The walls were thick, and the ceiling low, 
And seldom out-doors did the old woman go. 



A NUT TO CRACK. IO9 

She took no paper, and in no book 
Of any sort was she seen to look, 
Yet she imagined she knew much more 
Than man or woman had known before. 

They talked in her hearing of wondrous things, 
Of the dazzling splendor of Eastern kings, 
Of mountains covered with ice and snow, 
When all the valley lay green below. 

They spoke of adventures by sea and land/ 
Of oceans and seas by a cable spanned, 
Of buried treasures; — but though she heard, 
She said she didn't believe one word ! 

And still she lives in her little hut 
About the size of a hickory nut, 
At peace with herself and quite content 
With the way in which her days are spent. 

Little it troubles her, I suppose, 

Because so very little she knows, 

For keeping her doors and her windows shut, 

She has shrivelled up in her hickory nut. 

And you, my dears, will no longer grow 
If you rest contented with what you know, — 
But a pitiful object you will dwell, 
Shut up inside of your hickory shell. 

— From Wide Azaake. 



HO A CHRYSALIS. 

A CHRYSALIS. 

MY little Madchen found, one day, 
A curious something in her play; 
It was not fruit, nor flower, nor seed ; 
It was not anything that grew, 
Or anything that crept or flew ; 
It had no wings nor legs, indeed ! 
And yet she was not sure, she said, 
Whether it was alive or dead. 

She held it in her tiny hand, 
To see if I would understand, 
And wondered when I made reply : 
" You've found a baby butterfly." 
"A butterfly is not like this," 
With doubtful look, she answered me : 
So then I told her what would be 
Some day, within the chrysalis. 

How, slowly, in the dull brown thing 
That lay so still, a spotted wing, 
And then another, would unfold ; 
Till from the empty shell would fly 
A pretty creature, by and by, 
• All radiant in red and gold ! 
"And will it, truly?" questioned she — 
Her laughing lips and eager eyes 
All in a sparkle of surprise — 
" And shall your little Madchen see ? " 



GOOD COUNSEL. Ill 

"She shall!" I said. How could I tell 
That ere the worm within its shell 
Its gauzy, splendid wings had spread, 
My little Madchen would be dead ? 
To-day the butterfly has flown; 
She was not here to see it fly, 
And sad at heart, I wonder why 
The empty shell is mine alone. 
Perhaps the secret lies in this : 
I, too, had found a chrysalis ; 
And Death that robbed me of delight, 
Was but the radiant creature's flight! 

— Mary E. Bradley, 



GOOD COUNSEL. 

GUARD, my child, thy tongue, 
That it speak no wrong ; 
Let no evil word pass o'er it ; 
Set the watch of truth before it, 
That it speak no wrong : 
Guard, my child, thy tongue. 

Guard, my child, thine eyes; 

Prying is not wise ; 
Let them look on what is right; 
From all evil turn their sight ; 

Prying is not wise : 



Guard, my child, thine eyes 



112 THE BLUEBELL. 

Guard, my child, thy ear: 

Wicked words will sear; 
Let no evil word come in 
That may cause thy soul to sin ; 

Wicked words will sear : 

Guard, my child, thy ear. 

Ear and eyes and tongue, 
Guard while thou art young ; 

For, alas ! these busy three 

Can unruly members be : 

Guard while thou art young, 
Ears and eyes and tongue. 

— From the German. 

THE BLUEBELL. 

THERE is a story I have heard, — 
A poet learned it of a bird, 
And kept its music every word, — 



A story of a^ dim ravine 

O'er which the towering tree-tops lean, 

With one blue rift of sky between : 



And there two thousand years ago, 
A little flower as white as snow 
Swayed in the silence to and fro. 



THE BLUEBELL. 1 13 

Day after day, with longing eye, 
The floweret watched the narrow sky, 
And fleecy clouds that floated by. 

And through the darkness, night by night, 
One gleaming star would climb the height, 
And cheer the lonely floweret's sight. 

Thus watching the blue heavens afar, 

And the rising of its favorite star, 

A slow change came, — but not too near: 

For softly o'er its petals white 
There crept a blueness, like the light 
Of skies upon a summer night ; 

And in its chalice, I am told, 

The bonny bell was formed to hold 

A tiny star, that gleamed like gold. 

Now, little people sweet and true, 

I find a lesson here for you, 

Writ in the floweret's bell of blue : 



The patient child whose watchful eye 
Strives after all things pure and high, 
Shall take their image by and by. 



114 THE SANDS OF DEE. 

THE SANDS OF DEE. 

OH, Mary, go and call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 

Across the sands of Dee." 
The western wind was cold and dank wi' foam, 
And all alone went she. 

The creeping tide came up along the sand, 

And o'er and o'er the sand, 
And round and round the sand, 

As far as eye could see ; 
The blinding mist came down and hid the land — 

And never home came she, 

Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 

And tress o' golden hair, 
O' drowned maiden's hair, 

Above the nets at sea ? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, 

Among the stakes o' Dee. 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam, 

The cruel, crawling foam, 
The cruel, hungry foam, 

To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, 

Across the sands o' Dee. 

— Khigsley. 



NOT ALWAYS CHILDREN. 

THE GOLDEN RULE. 

DEAL with another as you'd have 
Another deal with you; 
What you're unwilling to receive, 
Be sure you never do. 



Be you to others kind and true, 
As you'd have others be to you ; 

And neither do nor say to men 
Whate'er you would not take again. 

— Isaac Watts. 



NOT ALWAYS CHILDREN. 

WE shall not be always children ; 
We shall leave our school some day ; 
May this thought assist to study, 
May it banish thoughts of play. 



We shall need our education 

When life's busy paths we tread ; 

Some may help to rule the nation, 
Some be crowned the nation's head. 



We shall not be always children, 
Yet when school-days all are o'er, 



Il6 THE SCHOOL. 

We shall find that life has lessons, 
Though we study here no more. 

Labor on, in life's fair morning, 
Truth to win, and wisdom gain, 

So when other years are dawning, 
We shall lofty place attain. 

THE SCHOOL. 

LITTLE girl, where do you go to school, 
And when do you go, little girl ? 
Over the grass, from dawn till dark, 

Your feet are in a whirl : 
You and the cat jump here and there, 

You and the robins sing ; 
But what do you know in the spelling-book ? 
Have you ever learned any thing?" 

Thus the little girl answered, — 

Only stopping to cling 
To my fingers a minute, 

As a bird on the wing 
Catches a twig of sumach, 

And stops to twitter and swing, — 

'• When the daisies' eyes are a-twinkle 

With happy tears of dew ; 
When swallows waken in the eaves, 

And the lamb bleats to the ewe ; 



NOW. I j 9 

When the lawns are golden-barred, 
And the kiss of the dew is cool ; 

When morning's breath blows out the stars, — 
Then do I go to school ! 

" My school-roof is the dappled sky ; 

And the bells that ring for me there 
Are all the voices of morning 

Afloat in the dewy air. 
Kind Nature is the Madame ; 

And the book whereout I spell 
Is dog's-eared by the brooks and glens 

Where I know the lesson well." 

Thus the little girl answered, 

In her musical out-door tone : 
She was up to my pocket, 

I was a man full-grown ; 
But the next time that she goes to school, 

She will not go alone ! 

— Fitz-Hugh Ludlow. 



NOW. 

LOSE this day loitering, — 'twill be the same 
story 
To-morrow, and the next more dilatory ; 
The indecision brings its own delays, 
And days are lost, lamenting over days. 



THE BROWN THRUSH. 



Are you in earnest ? Seize this very minute ; 
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it. 
Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. 



Only engage, and then the mind grows heated, - 
Begin, and then the work will be completed. 

— Unknown. 



THE BROWN THRUSH. 

THERE'S a merry brown thrush sitting up 
in the tree, 
'* He's singing to me ! He's singing to me ! " 
And what does he say, little girl, little boy? 

" Oh, the world's running over with joy ! 

Don't you hear? Don't you see? 

Hush ! Look ! In my tree, 
I'm as happy as happy can be!'' 



And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest 

do you see, 
And five eggs hid by me in the juniper-tree ? 
Don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy, 
Or the world will lose some of its joy ! 

Now I'm glad ! now I'm free ! 

And I always shall be, 
If you never bring sonow to me." 



THE GRAY SWAN. I 23 

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the 

tree. . 
To you and to me, to you and to me, 
And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, 
"Oh, the world's running over with joy; 
But long it won't be, 
Don't you know? don't you see? 
Unless we are as good as can be?" 

— Lucy Larcom,. 



THE GRAY SWAN, 

OH ! tell me, sailor, tell me true, 
Is my little lad, my Elihu, 
A-sailing with your ship?" 
The sailor's eyes were dim with dew, ■ 
"Your little lad, your Elihu?" 

He said with trembling lip, — 
"What little lad? What ship?" 



"What little lad? as if there could be 

Another such a one as he 1 

What little lad, do you say? 

Why, Elihu, that took to the sea 

The moment I put him off my knee ! 
It was just the other day 
The Gray Swan sailed away!" 



124 THE GRAY SWAN. 

" The other day ? " The sailor's eyes 

Stood open with a great surprise: — 
" The other day ? — the Swan t " 

His heart began in his throat to rise. 

"Ay, ay, sir! here in the cupboard lies 
The jacket he had on I" — 
" And so your iad is gone ? " 



"Gone with the Swan?" — "And did she stand 
With her anchor clutching hold of the sand, 

For a month, and never stir ? " 
"Why, to be sure! I've seen from the land, 
Like a lover kissing his lady's hand, 

The wild sea kissing her, 

A sight to remember, sir ! " 



"But, my good mother, do you know 
All this was twenty years ago ? 

I stood on the Gray Swan's deck, 
And to that lad I saw you throw, 
Taking it off, as it might be, so ! 
The kerchief from your neck." — 
"Ay, and he'll bring it back!" 



"And did the little lawless lad 
That has made you sick and made you sad, 
Sail with the Gray Swan's crew?" 



THE GRAY SWAN. 1 25 

" Lawless ! The man is going mad ! 
The best boy ever mother had: — 

Be sure he sailed with the crew r ! 

What would you have him do ? " 

"And he has never written line, 

Nor sent you word nor made you sign, 

To say he w r as alive ? " 
<; Hold ! if 'twas wrong, the wrong is mine ; 
Besides, 'he may be in the brine ; 

And could he write from the grave ? 

Tut, man! What would you have?" 

"Gone, twenty years, — a long, long cruise, 
'Twas wicked thus your love to abuse ! 

But if the lad still live, 
And come back home, think you, you can 
Forgive him ? " — " Miserable man ! 

You're mad as the sea, you rave — 

What have I to forgive?" 

The sailor twitched his shirt so blue, 
And from within his bosom drew 

The kerchief. She was wild. 
"O God, my Father! is it true? 
My little lad, my Elihu ! 

My blessed boy, my child ! 

My dead, my living child ! " 

— Alice Cary. 



126 LARWE. 

LARVJE. 

MY little maiden of four years old, — 
No myth, but a genuine child is she, 
With her bronze-brown eyes, and her curls of gold, — 
Came, quite in disgust, one day, to me. 

Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, 

(As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her,) 

She cried, — "Oh, mother, I found on my arm 
A ' horrible, crawling caterpillar ! " 

And with mischievous smile she could scarcely 
smother, 

Yet a look in its daring, half-awed and shy, 
She added, " While they were about it, mother, 

I wish they 'd just finished the butterfly." 

They were words to the thoughts of the soul 
that turns 

From the coarser form of a partial growth, 
Reproaching the Infinite Patience that yearns 

With an unknown glory to crown them both! 

Ah, look thou largely, with lenient eyes, 

On whatso beside thee may creep and cling, 

For the possible beauty that underlies 
The passing phase of the meanest thing ! 



THE FOUR SUNBEAMS. 1 27 

What if God's great angels, whose waiting love 

Beholdeth our pitiful life below, 
From the' holy height of their heaven above, 
Could n't bear with the worm till the wings 
should grow ? 

— Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 



- THE FOUR SUNBEAMS. 

FOUR little sunbeams came earthward one 
day, 
Shining and dancing along on their way, 

Resolved that their course should be blest. 
" Let us try," they all whispered, " some kind- 
ness to do, 
Not seek our own pleasuring all the day 
through, 
Then meet in the eve at the west." 



One sunbeam ran in at a low cottage door 
And played " hide-and-seek " with a child on 
the floor, 
Till baby laughed loud in his glee, 
And chased with delight his strange playmate so 

bright, 
The little hands grasping in vain for the light 
That ever before them would flee. 



128 THE FOUR SUNBEAMS. 

One crept to the couch where an invalid lay, 
And brought him a dream of the sweet sum- 
mer day, 
Its bird-song and beauty and bloom ; 
Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest, 
And in fancy he roamed through the scenes he 
loved best, 
Far away from the dim, darkened room. 

One stole to the heart of a flower that was 

sad, 
And loved and caressed her until she was glad 

And lifted her white face again. 
For love brings content to the lowliest lot, 
And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot, 

And lightens all labor and pain. 

And one, where a little blind girl sat alone 
Not sharing the mirth of her play-fellows, shone 

On hands that were folded and pale, 
And kissed the poor eyes that had never known 

sight, 
That never would gaze on the beautiful light 

Till angels had lifted the veil. 

At last, when the shadows of evening were fall- 
in cr 

And the sun, their great father, his children 
was calling, 



I LL PUT IT OFF. I 29 

Four sunbeams sped into the west. 
All said : " We have found that in seeking the 

pleasure 
Of others, we fill to the full our own measure," 
Then softly they sank to their rest. 

— M. K. B. 

I'LL PUT IT OFF. 

SOME little folks are apt to say, 
When asked their task to touch, 
" I '11 put it off, at least to-day ; 
It cannot matter much." 

Time is always on the wing ; 

You cannot stop its flight: 
Then do at once your little task ; 

You '11 happier be at night. 

For little duties, still put off, 

Will end in "never done;" 
And "by and by is time enough," 

Has ruined many a one. 

AT THE PARTY. 

HALF a dozen children 
At our house ! 
Half a dozen children 
Quiet as a mouse, 



I30 AT THE PARTY. 

Quiet as a moonbeam, 
You could hear a pin — 

Waiting for the party 
To begin. 



Such a flood of flounces! 

(O dear me !) 
Such a surge of sashes, 

Like a silken sea. 
Little eyes demurely 

Cast upon the ground, 
Little airs and graces 

All around. 



High time for that party 

To begin ! 
To sit so any longer 

Were a sort of sin ; 
As if you weren't acquainted 

With society ! 
What a thing to tell of 

That would be! 



Up spoke a little lady 

Aged five : 
" I've tumbled up my over-dress 

Sure as I'm alive ! 



AT THE PARTY. 1 33 

My dress came from Paris ; 

We sent to Worth for it; 
Mother says she calls it 

Just a fit!" 

Quick there piped another 

Little voice : 
" / didn't send for dresses. 

Though I had my choice ; 
-/ have got a doll that 

Came from Paris too ; 
It can walk and talk as 

Well as you J " ^ 

Still, till now, there sat one 

Little girl ; 
Simple as a snow-drop, 

Without flounce or curl. 
Modest as a primrose, 

Soft plain hair brushed back, 
But the color of her dress was 

Black — all black. 

Swift she glanced around with 

Sweet surprise ; 
Bright and grave the look that 

Widened in her eyes. 
To entertain the party 

She must do her share ; 
As if God had sent her 

Stood she there. 



134 



AT THE PARTY. 



Stood a minute thinking, 

With crossed hands, 
How she best might meet the 

Company's demands. 
Grave and sweet the purpose 

To the child's voice given : 
"/ have a little brother 

Gone to Heaven ! " 




On the little party 

Dropped a spell ; 
All the little flounces 

Rustled where they fell ; 



KEEP TO THE RIGHT. 

But the modest maiden, 
In her mourning gown, 

Unconscious as a flower 
Looketh down. 



Quick my heart besought her, 

Silently ; 
" Happy little maiden, . 

Give, O give to me 
The highness of your courage, 

The sweetness of your grace 
To speak a large word in a 

Little place." 

— Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 



KEEP TO THE RIGHT. 

KEEP to the right," as the law directs, 
For such is the law of the road; 
Keep to the right whoever expects 
Securely to carry life's load. 



Keep to the right with God and the world, 
Nor wander, though folly allures ; 

Keep to the right, nor ever be hurled 
From what by the statute is yours. 



r 35 



136 SOWING. 

Keep to the right, within and without, 
With stranger, and kindred, and friend ; 

Keep to the right, nor harbor a doubt 
That all will be well in the end. 



Keep to the right, whatever you do, 
Nor claim but your own on the way ; 

Keep to the right, and stick to the true, 
From morn till the close of the day. 



SOWING. 

ARE we sowing seeds of kindness ? 
They will blossom bright ere long. 
Are we sowing seeds of discord ? 

They will ripen into wrong. 
Are we sowing seeds of honor ? 

They will bring forth golden grain. 
Are we sowing seeds of falsehood ? 
We shall yet reap bitter pain. 
Whatsoe'er our sowing be, 
Reaping, we its fruits must see. 

We can never be too careful 

What the seed our hands shall sow; 

Love from love is sure to ripen, 
Hate from hate is sure to grow. 

Seeds of good or ill we scatter, 



SONG OF SEVEN. — SEVEN TIMES ONE. 137 

Heedlessly along our way, 
But a glad or grievous fruitage 
Waits us at the harvest day. 
Whatsoe'er our sowing be, 
Reaping, we its fruits must see. 

— Anon. 



SONG OF SEVEN.— SEVEN TIMES ONE. 

THERE'S no clew left on the daisies and 
clover, 
There's no rain left in heaven : 
I've said my "seven times" over and over. 
Seven times one are seven. 

I am old, so old I can write a letter ; 

My birthday lessons are done ; 
The lambs play always, they know no better, — 

They are only one times one. 

O, Moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing 

And shining so round and low ; 
You were bright ; ah, bright ! but your light is 
failing, — 

You are nothing now but a bow. 

You Moon, have you done something .wrong 
in heaven, 
That God has hidden vour face ? 



138 JEANNETTE AND JO. 

I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, 
And shine again in your place. 



O, velvet Bee, you're a dusty fellow, 
You've powdered your legs with gold ; 

O, brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow, 
Give me your money to hold! 



O columbine, open your folded wrapper, 
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! 

O cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper 
That hangs in your clear green bell ! 



And show me your nest, with the young ones 
in it ; 
I will not steal them away; 
I am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet, — 
I am seven times one to-day. 

— Jean Ingelow. 



JEANNETTE AND JO. 

TWO girls I know — Jeannette and Jo, 
And one is always moping; 
The other lassie, come what may, 
Is ever bravely hoping. 



JEANNETTE AND JO. 141 

Beauty of face and girlish grace 

Are theirs, for joy or sorrow; 
Jeannette takes brightly every day, 

And Jo dreads each to-morrow. 

One early morn they watched the dawn — 

I saw them stand together ; 
Their whole day's sport, 'twas very plain, 

Depending on the weather. 

" Twill storm ! " cried Jo. Jeannette spoke 
low, 

"Yes, but 'twill soon be over." 
And, as she spoke, the sudden shower 

Came beating down the clovei. 

" I told you so ! " cried angry Jo ; 

" It always is a-raining ! " 
Then hid her face in dire despair, 

Lamenting and complaining. 

But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet — 

I tell it to her honor — 
Looked up and waited till the sun 

Came streaming in upon her; 

The broken clouds sailed off in crowds 

Across a sea of glory. 
Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in — 

Which ends my simple story. 



142 THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON. 

Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine, 
The hopeful are the gladdest ; 

And doubt and dread, dear girls, believe, 
Of all things are the saddest. 



In morning's light let youth be bright, 
Take in the sunshine tender ; 

Then, at the close, shall life's decline 
Be full of sunset splendor. 



And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette, 
To shun all weak complaining ; 

And not like Jo, cry .out too soon, 
" It always is a-raining ! " 

— Mary Mapes Dodge. 



THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON. 

HEARKEN, child, unto a story! 
For the moon is in the sky, 
And across her shield of silver 
See two tiny cloudlets fly. 



Watch them closely, mark them sharply, 
As across the light they pass: 

Seem they not to have the figures 
Of a little lad and lass ? 



THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON. 1 43 

See, my child, across their shoulders 

Lies a little pole ! and lo ! 
Yonder speck is just the bucket 

' winging softly to and fro. 

It is said these little children, 
Many and many a summer night, 

To a little well far northward 
Wandered in the still moonlight. 

To the wayside-well they trotted, 

Filled their little buckets there ; 
And the moon-man, looking downward, 

Saw how beautiful they were. 

Quoth the man, " How vexed and sulky 

Looks the little rosy boy! 
But the little handsome maiden 

Trips behind him full of joy. 

"To the well behind the hedgerow 

Trot the little lad and maiden ; 
From the well behind the hedgerow 

Now the little pail is laden. 

" How they please me ! how they tempt me ! 

Shall I snatch them up to-night ? — 
Snatch them, set them here for ever 

In the middle of my light? 



144 THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON. 

" Children, ay, and children's children, 
Shall behold my babes on high ; 

And my babes shall smile for ever, 
Calling others to the sky ! " 

Thus the philosophic moon-man 

Muttered many years ago; 
Set the babes, with pole and bucket, 

To delight the folks below. 

Never is the bucket empty, 
Never are the children old ; 

Ever when the moon is shining 
We the children may behold. 

Ever young and ever little, 

Ever sweet and ever fair ! 
When thou art a man, my darling, 

Still the children will be there. 



Ever young and ever little, 

They will smile when thou art old ; 
When thy locks are thin and silver, 

Theirs will still be shining gold. 

They will haunt thee from their heavens, 
Softly, beckoning down the gloom ; 

Smiling in eternal sweetness 
On thy cradle, on thy tomb ! 

— From The Scandinavian. 



RESCUED. 145 

RESCUED. 

LITTLE lad, slow wandering across the sand 
so yellow, 
Leading safe a lassie small, — Oh, tell me, little 

fellow, 
Whither go you, loitering in the summer weather, 
Chattering like sweet-voiced birds on a bough 
together ? " 



"I am Robert, if you please, and this is Rose, 

my sister, 
Youngest of us all" — he bent his curly head 

and kissed her, — 
" Every day we come and wait here till the sun 

is setting, 
Waiting for our father's ship, for mother dear is 

fretting. 



u Long ago he sailed away out of sight and 

hearing, 
Straight across the bay he went, into sunset 

steering ; 
Every day we look for him, and hope for his 

returning ; 
Every night my mother keeps the candle for him 

burning. 



146 RESCUED. 

" Summer goes and winter comes, and spring re- 
turns, but never 

Father's step comes to the gate. Oh! is he gone 
♦forever ? 

The great grand ship that bore him off, think 
you some tempest wrecked her ? " 

Tears shone in little Rosie's eyes, upturned to 
her protector. 



Eagerly the bonny lad went on : " Oh, sir, look 
yonder ! 

In the offing see the sails that east and west- 
ward wander ; 

Every hour they come and go, the misty dis- 
tance thronging, 

While we watch and see them fade, with sorrow 
and with longing." 



" Little Robert ! little Rose ! " The stranger's eyes 

were glistening ; 
At his bronzed and bearded face up-gazed the 

children listening ; 
He knelt upon the yellow sand, and clasped 

them to his bosom — 
Robert brave, -and little Rose as bright as any 

blossom. 



THE TREE. I 49 

"Father! father! Is it you?" The still air rings 

with rapture, 
All the vanished joy of years the waiting ones 

recapture ! 
Finds he welcome, wild and sweet, the low. 

thatched cottage reaching, 
But the ship that into sunset steered upon the 

rocks lies bleaching ! 

— From Wide Awake. 



THE TREE. 

THE Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting 
their brown ; 
" Shall I take them away? " said the Frost, 
sweeping down. 

" No, leave them alone 
Till the blossoms have grown," 
Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from root- 
let to crown. 



The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds 

sung; 
" Shall I take them away ? " said the Wind, as 
he swung. 

" No, leave them alone 
Till the berries have grown," 
Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung. 



150 THE CROWS CHILDREN. 

The Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer 

glow; 
Said the girl: "May I gather thy berries now?" 
"Yes, all thou canst see: 
Take them; all are for thee," 
Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden 
boughs low. 

— Bjornson. 

THE CROW'S CHILDREN. 

A HUNTSMAN, bearing his gun a-field, 
Went whistling merrily, 
When he heard the blackest of black crows 
Call out from a withered tree : 

"You are going to kill the thievish birds, 

And I would if I were you ; 
But you mustn't touch my family, 

Whatever else you do." 

"I'm only going to kill the birds 

That are eating up my crop; 
And if your young ones do such things, 

Be sure they'll have to stop." 

" Oh," said the crow, " my children 

Are the best ones ever born ; 
There isn't one among them all 

Would steal a grain of corn," 



THE CROWS CHILDREN. 151 

" But how shall I know which ones they are ? 

Do they resemble you ? " 
" Oh no," said the crow ; " they're the 

prettiest birds, 
And the whitest that ever flew ! " 

So off went the sportsman, whistling, 

And off, too, went his gun ; 
And its startling echoes never ceased 

Again till the day was done. 

And the old crow sat untroubled, 

Cawing away in her nook, 
For she said, " He'll never kill my birds, 

Since I told him how they look. 

"Now there's the hawk, my neighbor; 

She'll see what she will see soon ; 
And that saucy whistling blackbird 

May have to change his tune ! " 

When, lo ! she saw the hunter 

Taking his homeward track, 
With a string of crows as long as his gun 

Hanging down his back. 

" Alack ! alack ! " said the mother, 

" What in the world have you done ? 

You promised to spare my pretty birds, 
And you've killed them every one!" 



J 52 THE LITTLE BROTHER. 

"Your birds!" said the puzzled hunter; 

" Why, I found them in my corn ; 
And besides, they are black and ugly 

As any that ever were born ! " 

" Get out of my sight, you stupid ! " 
. Said the angriest of crows ; 
"How good and fair her children are 
There's none but a parent knows ! " 

" Ah ! I see, I see," said the hunter, 

" But not as you do, quite ; 
It takes a mother to be so blind 

She can't tell black from white ! " 

— Phoebe Cary. 



THE LITTLE BROTHER. 

AMONG the beautiful pictures 
That hang on Memory's wall, 
Is one of a dim old forest, 

That seemeth the best of all ; 
Not for its gnarled oaks olden, 

Dark with the mistletoe ; 
Not for the violets golden 

That sprinkle the vale below; 
Not for the milk-white lilies • 

That lean from the fragrant hedge, 
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, 

And stealing their golden edge ; 



THE LITTLE BROTHER. 



*53 



Not for the vines on the upland 
Where the bright red berries rest ; 

Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip, 
It seemeth to me the best. 




I once had a little brother 

With eyes that were dark and deep ; 
In the lap of that olden forest 

He lieth in peace asleep ; 
Light as the down of the thistle, 

Free as the winds that blow, 
We roved there the beautiful summers, 

The summers of long ago ; 
But his feet on the hills grew weary, 

And one of the autumn eves 
I made for my little brother 

A bed of the yellow leaves. 



[54 THE LITTLE BROTHER. 

Sweetly his pale arms folded 

My neck in a meek embrace, 
As the light of immortal beauty 

Silently covered his face ; 
And when the arrows of sunset 

Lodged in the tree-tops bright, 
He fell, in his saint-like beauty, 

Asleep by the gates of light. 
Therefore, of all the pictures - 

That hang on Memory's wall. 
The one of the dim old forest 
• Seemeth the best of all. 

— Alice Cary. 



PROSE AND POETRY. 

Read what is worth remembering, and then re- 
member it. — Edward Everett Hale. 



t<«:MM^ 




PROSE AND POETRY. 
I. 

Politeness is to do and say 

The kindest thing in the kindest way. 

II. 

A little child may have a loving heart, 
Most dear and sweet ; 
And willing feet. 

A little child may have a happy hand, 
Full of kind deeds 
For many needs. 

A little child may have a gentle voice 
And pleasant tongue 
For every one. 
i57 



r S 8 



SELECTIONS. 



III. 



Good character is property. It is the noblest 
of all possessions. 

— Samuel Smiles. 



IV. 



If you tried and have not won, 

Never stop for crying; 
All that's great and good is done 

Just by patient trying. 

— Phozbe Cary. 



Each mind makes its own little world. 
The cheerful mind makes a pleasant one, 
as the discontented mind a miserable one. 

VI. 

If Wisdom's ways you wisely seek, 
Five things observe with care : 

To whom you speak, of whom you speak, 
And how, and when, and where. 



VII. 

Politeness — true heart-kindness expressed in a 
pleasant manner. 



SELECTIONS. 159 

Beauty — heart-nobleness, shining through the 
face. 

Honesty — never speaking, thinking, or acting 
a lie. 

Industry — saving the "pennies" of time, and 
so gaining the " pound " of result. 

— C. A. C. 

VIII. 

Over and over again, 

No matter which way I turn, 
I always find in the book of life 

Some lesson that I must learn; 
I must take my turn at the mill, 

I must grind out the golden grain, 
1 must work at my task with a resolute will 

Over and over again. 

IX. 

Do you wish to make something of yourself ? 
Begin in right earnest. Where there's a will 
there's a way. The sun shines for all the 
world. The road up the hill may be hard, but 
at any rate, it is open, and they who set stout 
heart against steep hill shall climb it yet. 

Believe in God and stick to hard work, and 
see if the mountains are not removed ! 

Cheer up, boys ! God helps those who help 
themselves. 

— C. H. Spurgeon. 



160 SELECTIONS. 

X. 

The proudest motto for the young ! 

Write it in lines of gold 
Upon thy heart, and in thy mind 

The stirring words enfold : 

And in misfortune's dreary hour, 
Or fortune's prosperous gale, 

'Twill have a holy, cheering power, — 
"There's no such word as fail" 

— Alice G/'lee. 



XL 



Be not simply good, be good for something. 

— H. D. Thoreait. 

XII. 

It is not enough to do the right thing, but 
we must do it in the right way, and at the 
right time, if we would gain success in life. 
— Prof William Matthews. 

XIII. 

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor-boy, 
With his marble block before him, 

And his face lit up with a smile of joy 
As an angel-dream passed o'er him. 




AND HIS FACE LIT UP WITH A SMILE OF JOY." l6l 



SELECTIONS. 1 63 

He carved the dream on that shapeless stone 

With many a sharp incision ; 
With heaven's own light the sculpture shone: 

He had caught that angel-vision. 

Sculptors of life are we, as we stand 

With our souls uncovered before us, 
Waiting the hour when, at God's command, 

Out life-dream shall pass o'er us. 
If we carve it then on the yielding stone 

With many a sharp incision, 
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own ; 

Our lives that angel-vision. 

— Bishop Doane. 

XIV. 

What the child admired, the youth endeavored, 

and the man acquired. 

— Dry den. 

XV. 

Believe not each accusing tongue, 

As most weak people do ; 
But still believe that story wrong 

Which ought not to be true. 

— Sheridan. 

XVI. 

To be brave; to speak the truth; to be kind, 
and loyal to his country, — this is the duty of a 



164 SELECTIONS. 

gentleman, my boy. Is there anything here you 
cannot perform ? 

— Children's Etiquette. 

XVII. 

Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 

'Tis only noble to be good. 
Kind hearts are more than coronets, 

And simple faith than Norman blood. 

— Tennyson. 

_XVIIL 

All large things are made up of small ones. 
The noble lives we read of, were lived one day, 
one hour, one minute at a time. Their complete- 
ness as a whole is the result of the completeness 
of each part. 

Our boys and girls who are so eager to grasp 
in the present the far results of toil, must be 
content to climb and climb, one step at a time, 
to conquer the territory around them, and thus 
enlarge their possessions. 

— 'Horace Greeley. 

XIX. 

Let us gather up the sunbeams, 

Lying all around our path ; 
Let us keep the wheat and roses, 

Casting out the thorns and chaff ; 



SELECTIONS. 1 65 

Let us find our sweetest comfort 

In the blessings of to-day, 
With a patient hand removing 
. All the briers from our way. 

— Phoebe Gary. 

XX 

Never feel that you have done well enough, while 
you know that you can still do better. 

XXI. 

Better to weave in the web of life 

A bright and golden filling 
And to do God's will with a ready heart, 

And hands that are prompt and willing, 
Than to snap the delicate minute threads 

Of our curious lives asunder, 
And then heaven blame for the tangled ends, 

And sit, and grieve, and wonder. 

— Mrs. M. A. Kidder. 

XXII. 

Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise 
and sunset, two golden hours, each set with 
sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, 
for they are gone forever. 

— Horace Maun. 



1 66 SELECTIONS. 

XXIII. 

The heights of great men reached and kept, 

Were not attained by sudden flight; 

But they, while their companions slept, 

Were toiling upward in the night. 

— Longfellow, 
# 

XXIV. 

There is no way by which we can surround 
ourselves by good society so readily as by be- 
ing good ourselves. If we plant good seeds we 
may calculate with a great degree of certainty 
upon securing good fruit. 

If I plant frankness and open-heartedness, I 
expect to reap them ; and I have no right to 
expect to reap them unless I plant them. 

— Dr. J. G. Holland. 

XXV. 

The fisher who draws in his net too soon, 

Won't have any fish to sell; 
The child who shuts up his book too soon, 

Won't learn any lessons well. 
If you would have your learning stay, 

Be patient — don't learn too fast; 
The man who travels a mile each day, 

Will get round the world at last. 



SELECTIONS. 1 67 

xxvi: 

Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, 
doubting which path to choose, remember that, 
when years are passed, and your feet stumble 
on the dark mountain, you will cry bitterly, but 
cry in vain : " O, youth, return ! O, give me 
back my early days ! " 

— Jean Paul Richter. 

XXVII. 

True worth is in being, not seeming, — 

In doing each day that goes by 
Some little good — not in the dreaming 

Of great things to do by and by, 
For whatever men say in blindness, 

And spite of the fancies of youth, 
There 's nothing so kingly as kindness, 

And nothing so royal as truth. 

— Alice Cary. 



XXVIII. 

Whatever place you occupy, do not pretend 
to despise it. Is your position a humble one ? 
Ennoble it by the manner in which you dis- 
charge its duties. 

— Prof. Matthews, 



1 68 SELECTIONS. 



XXIX. 



So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 

So nigh is God to man, 
When Duty whispers low, " Thou must" 

The youth replies "lean" 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

XXX. 

The talent of success is nothing more than 
doing well whatever you do, without a thought of 
reward. 

— Longfellow. 

XXXI. 

He liveth long who liveth well ; 

All else is life but flung away ; 
He liveth longest who can tell 

Of true things truly done each day. 
Then fill each hour with what will last ; 

Buy up the moments as they go ; 
The life above when this is past, 

Is the ripe fruit of life below. 

— H. Bonar. 

XXXII. 

LITTLE FOXES. 

One little fox is By and By. If you track him 
you come to his home — Never. 



SELECTIONS. 1 69 

Another little fox is, I can't. You had better 
set on him a spry, plucky little one, 1 can by 
name. It does wonders. 

A third little fox is, No use in trying. He has 
spoiled more vines and hindered the growth of 
more -fruit than any other enemy. 

A fourth little fox is, I forgot. He is very 
provoking. He is a great cheat. He slips 
through your fingers like time. He is seldom 
caught up with. 

A fifth little fox is, Don't care. Oh, the mis- 
chief he has clone! 

XXXIII. 

There is many a rest in the road of life 
If we only would stop to take it ; 

And many a tone from the better land, 
If the querulous heart would wake it. 

To the sunny soul that is full of hope, 
And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, 

The grass is green, and the flowers are bright, 
Though the wintry wind prevaileth. 

XXXIV. 

Don't live a single hour of your life without 
doing exactly what is to be done in it, and 
going straight through from beginning to end. 



170 SELECTIONS. 

Work, play, study, whatever it is — take hold 
at once and finish it up squarely and cleanly. 

— Exchaiige. 

XXXV. 

We live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not 
breaths ; 
In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs. 
He most lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the 
best. 

— Philip James Bailey. 

XXXVI. 

A simple " I thank you " for a favor received, 
will fill with happiness the heart of the giver. 

XXXVII. 

A kindly act is a kernel sown, 
That will grow to a goodly tree, 

Shedding its fruit when time has flown 
Down the gulf of eternity. 

—J. Boyle O'Reilly. 

XXXVIII. 

Swear not at all. Deceive not. Profanity and 
falsehood are marks of low breeding. 



SELECTIONS. 171 

XXXIX. 

Speak the truth, and speak it ever, 

Cost it what it will ; 
He who hides the wrong he did 

Does the wrong thing still. 

XL. 

Trie greater the difficulty, the more glory in 
overcoming it. 

XLI. 

Is learning your ambition ? 

There is no royal road ; 
Alike the peer and peasant 

Must climb to her abode ; 
Who feels the thirst of knowledge 

In Helicon may slake it, 
If he has still the Roman will 

" To find a way or make it ! " 

—John G. Saxe. 

XLII. 

WISDOM FOR BOYS. 

Do you wish to make your mark in the world? 
Do you wish to quit yourselves like men ? Then 
observe the following rules : 



1 72 SELECTIONS. 

Hold integrity sacred. 

Observe good manners. 

Endure small trials patiently. 

Be prompt in all things. 

Yield not to discouragements. 

Dare to do right ; fear to do wrong. 

Fight life's battles bravely, manfully. 

Consider well, then decide positively. 

Sacrifice money rather than principle. 

Use your leisure time for improvement. 

XLIII. 

One by one thy duties greet thee, 
Let thy whole strength go to each, 

Let no future dreams elate thee, 

Learn thou first what these can teach. 

Every hour that fleets so slowly 

Has its task to do or bear; 
Luminous the crown, and holy, 

When each gem is set with care. 

— Adelaide A. Proctor. 

XLIV. 

Children, nothing in this world requires more 
courage than always to say No to all forms of 
sin and wrong! 

Remember, then, that in living up to this motto, 



SELECTIONS. 173 

A T o, to wrong, Yes, to right, you can be as truly 
heroes as on any of earth's famous battle-fields. 

— a a. c. 

XLV. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit round by round. 



I count this thing to be grandly true : 

That a noble deed is a step toward God, — 
Lifting the soul from, the .common sod, 

To a purer air and a broader view. 

—J. G. Holland, 



XLVI. 

Learn to control your temper now 7 , children, or 
by and by, it will control you. 

XLVII. 

We must not hope to be mowers, 
And to gather the ripe, gold ears. 

Until we have first been sowers, 

And w r atered the furrows with tears. 



174 SELECTIONS. 

It is not just as we take it — 

This mystical world of ours ; 
Life's field will yield as we make it, 

A harvest of thorns or flowers. 

XLVIII. 

Habit is a cable ; we weave a thread of it every 
day, and it becomes so strong we cannot break it. 

— Horace Mann. 

XLIX. 

Count that day lost whose low-descending sun 
Views from thy hand no worthy action done. 



Be more anxious to secure Self-respect, than the 
respect of others. 

LI. 

If you are too weak to journey 

Up the mountain steep and high, 
You can stand within the valley, 

While the multitudes go by ; 
You can chant in happy measure, 

As they slowly pass along; 
Though they may forget the singer, 

They will not forget the song. 



SELECTIONS. 1 75 

LIL 

You should learn to judge between right and 
wrong, and then be ready to strike manfully for 
the right. 

— Bishop Clark. 

LIIL 

" Define a gentleman " you say ? Well, yes, I 
can ! 

He's as gentle as a woman and as manly as a 
man. 

LIV. 

When we are no longer young we look back 
and see where we might have done better and 
learned more, and the things we have neglected, 
rise up and mortify us every day of our lives. 

To be young is a great advantage, and now is 
the golden time to store away treasures for the future. 

What we sow in youth we reap in age. The 
seed of the thistle always produces the thistle. 
The possibilities that wait upon you who are yet 
in the spring-time of existence, who are yet hold- 
ing in your own two hands the precious gift of 
time, cannot be over-estimated. 

— James T. Fields. 

LV. 

— No stream from its source 
Flows seaward, how lonely soever course, 



176 SELECTIONS. 

But what some land is gladdened. 

No star ever rose 
And set, without influence somewhere. Who knows 
What earth needs from earth's lowest creatures? 

No life 
Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its 

strife 
And all life not be purer and stronger thereby. 

— Robert, Lord Lytton. 

LVL 

Respect for one's father and mother, as well as 
for older persons generally, is the first point of 
high breeding all over the world. 

— Etiquette for Children. 

LVII. 

Merry little moments, 

Slipping through my hand ; 
Filling up an hour-glass 

With a grain of sand ; 
Counting all my actions, 

Burying the day ; 
Merrv little moments, 

Stealing life away. 

Silent little warnings 

From a voice within ; 
Urging me to goodness, 

Saving me from sin ; 



SELECTIONS. 



177 



Telling of a glory, 

Brighter than the even : 

Silent little warnings, 
Guiding me to Heaven ! 

LVIII. 

If you wish success in life, make perseverance 
your chosen friend, experience your wise counsel- 
lor, caution your elder brother, and hope your 
guardian genius. 

— Addison. 




LIX, 



I remember, I remember 

The house where I was born ; 



178 SELECTIONS. 

The little window where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn ; 

He never came a wink too soon, 
Nor brought too long a day ; 

But now, I often wish the night 
Had borne my breath away ! 



I remember, I remember 

The fir-trees dark and high ; 
I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky; 
It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 'tis little joy 
To know I'm farther off from heaven 

Than when I was a boy. 

— Thomas Hood 

LX. 

RULES FOR MAKING SUNSHINE. 

First, don't think of what might have been if 
things were different. Second, see how many 
pleasant things are given you to enjoy. And 
lastly, do all you can to make other people 
happy. 

LXI. 

A LESSON. 



A bluebird met a butterfly 
One lovely summer day, 



SELECTIONS. 1 79 

And sweetly lisped, " I like your dress, 

It's very bright and gay." 
There wasn't* any butterfly 

When bluebird flew away. 

Our black cat met that sly bluebird 

When going for a walk, 
And mewed, "My charming, singing friend, 

Let's have a quiet talk." 
There wasn't any bluebird 

When puss resumed her walk. 

— St. Nicholas. 

LXII. 

You may set this truth in whatever light you 
will, of business, or work on the common level or 
work on the loftiest heights, to give your heart to 
it is one of the grandest secrets of success. It 
may seem to you that a great many men go 
from the bottom to the top of the ladder at 
one jump. It is not true. It is never true. All 
the men I know who have made a real success 
of their lives are hard climbers. 

— Robert Colly er. 

LXI1L 

Know, dear little one! our Father 

Will no gentle deed disdain : 
Love on the cold earth beginning 

Lives divine in heaven again, 



SELECTIONS. 



While the angel hearts that beat there 
Still all tender thoughts retain. 

— Adelaide Anne Proctor, 



LXIV. 

If I were a boy again I would demand of 
myself more courtesy towards my companions and 
friends. Indeed, I would rigorously exact it of 
myself towards strangers as well. 

The smallest courtesies interspersed along the 
rough roads of life, are like the little English 
sparrows now singing to us all winter long, and 
making that season of ice and snow more en- 
durable to everybody. 

— James T. Fields. 

LXV. 

There's a dear little ten-year-old down the street, 
With eyes so merry and smile so sweet 
I love to stay him whenever we meet ; 

And I call him Jamie, the gentleman. 



" Trust ever in God," and " Be brave and true"- 
Jamie has chosen these precepts two ; 
Glorious mottoes for me and for you ; 
May God bless Jamie the gentleman ! 

— Wide Awake. 



SELECTIONS. l8l 

LXVI. 

There is not one amongst you all, I care not 
how young he may be, who has not heard or 
felt the call in his own heart to put aside all 
evil habits, and to live a brave, simple, truthful 
Jife. 

But here, as elsewhere, it is the first step which 
costs, and tells. He who has once taken that, 
consciously and resolutely, has gained a vantage 
ground for all his life. 

— Thomas Hughes, 



LXVII. 

A little spring had lost its way, 
Among the grass and fern ; 

A. passing stranger scooped a well, 
Where weary men might turn. 



He walled it in and hung with care 

A ladle at its brink — 
He thought not of the deed he did, 

But judged that toil might drink. 

He passed again, and lo ! the well 

By summers never dried, 
Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, 

And saved a life beside. 



102 SELECTIONS. 

LXVIII. 

Whatever you do, my boy, do it well. The 
slighting of any piece of work, however unim- 
portant, leads to neglect of more important things, 
and soon everything the hand touches is passed 
over carelessly. Habitual neglect makes a bad 
workman. 

— Sidney Smith. 

LXIX. 

Said the corn to the Lilies, 

" Press not near my feet : 
You are only idlers, 

Neither corn nor wheat 
Do not earn a livings 

Just by being sweet ! " 

Naught answered the Lilies, 

Neither yea nor nay, 
Only they grew sweeter 

All the livelong day. 
And at last the Teacher 

Chanced to come that way. 

While His tried disciples 

Rested at his feet, 
And the proud corn rustled, 

Bidding them to eat, 
" Children," said the Teacher, 

" The life is more than meat. 



SELECTIONS. 



i&3 



"Consider the Lilies, 

How beautiful they grow! 

Never king had such glory, 
Yet no toil they know." 

Oh, happy were the Lilies, 
That He loved them so. 

LXX. 

A fragment of a rainbow bright 
Through the moist air I see, 

All dark and damp on yonder height, 
All bright and clear to me. 




An hour ago the storm was here, 

The gleam was far behind, 
So will our joys and griefs appear, 

When earth has ceased to blind. 

— F. Kemble. 



184 THE LARK AND THE ROOK, 

LXXL 

If you wish to be miserable, you must think about 
yourself ; about what you want, what you like, what 
respect people ought to pay you, what people think 
of you ; and then to you nothing will be pure. You 
will spoil every thing you touch ; you will make sin 
and misery out of everything God sends you ; you 
can be as wretched as you choose. 

— Kingsley. 



Books wind into the heart ; the poet's verse 
slides into the current of our blood. We read 
them when young, we remember them when old. 

— Samuel Smites. 



THE LARK AND THE ROOK. 

GOOD-NIGHT, Sir Rook/' said a little Lark; 
"The daylight fades, it will soon be dark; 
I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray, 
I've sung my hymn to the dying day : 
So now I haste to my quiet nook 
In yon dewy meadow; good-night, Sir Rook." 



" Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend, 
With a haughtv toss and a distant bend ; 



THE LARK AND THE ROOK. 1 85 

" I also go to my rest profound, 

But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground ; 

The fittest place for a bird like me 

Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree. 



" I opened my eyes at peep of day, 
And saw you taking your upward way, 
Dreaming your fond, romantic dreams — 
An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams — 
Soaring too high to be seen or heard ; 
And said to myself, What a foolish bird ! 



" I trod the park with a princely air, 

I filled my crop with the richest fare ; 

I cawed all clay 'mid a lordly crew, 

And I made more noise in the world than you ; 

The sun shone forth on my ebon wing ; 

I looked and wondered ; good-night, poor thing ! " 



" Good-night, once more," said the Lark's sweet 

voice ; 
" I see no cause to repent my choice. 
You build your nest in the lofty pine. 
But is your slumber more soft than mine ? 
You make more noise in the world than I, 
But whose is the sweetest minstrelsy ? " 



l86 . A SHORT SERMON. 

A SHORT SERMON. 

CHILDREN who read my lay| 
This much I have to say: 
Each day, and every day, 

Do what is right, — 
Right things in great and small, 
Then, though the sky should fall, 
Sun, moon, and stars, and all, 
You shall have light. 



This further would I say : 
Be you tempted as you may, 
Each day, and every day, 

Speak what is true, — 
True things in great and small ; 
Then, though the sky should fall, 
Sun, moon, and stars, and all, 

Heaven would show through. 



Figs, as you see and know, 
Do not out of thistles grow ; 
And, though the blossoms blow 

While on the tree, 
Grapes never, never yet 
On the limbs of thorns were set 
So, if you good would get, 

Good you must be. 



IF WE KNEW. 187 

Life's journey through and through, 
Speaking what is just and true, 
Doing what is right to do 

Unto one and all, 
When you work and when you play, 
Each day, and every day, — 
Then peace shall gild your way, 

Though the sky should fall. 

— Alice Cary. 



IF WE KNEW. 

IF we knew the cares and sorrows 
Crowding round our neighbor's way. 
If we knew the little losses, 

Sorely grievous day by day, 
Would we then so often chide him 
For the lack of thrift and gain, 
Leaving on his heart a shadow, 
Leaving on our hearts a stain ? 

If we knew the clouds above us, 

Held by gentle blessings there, 
Would we turn away, all trembling, 

In our blind and weak despair ? 
Would we shrink from littie shadows 

Lying on the dewy grass, 
While 'tis only birds of Eden 

Just in mercy flying past? 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 

Let us reach within our bosoms 

For the key to other lives, 
And with love to erring nature, 

Cherish good that still survives ; 
So that when our disrobed spirits 

Soar to realms of light again. 
We may say, " Dear Father, judge us, 

As we judged our fellow-men." 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 

YOU know, we French stormed Ratisbon ; 
A mile or so away, 
On a little mound Napoleon 
Stood on our storming-day ; 
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow 
Oppressive with its mind. 



Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans, 

That soar, to earth may fall, 
Let once my army leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall, — " 
Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 189 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 



M Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 

We've got you Ratisbon ! 
The Marshal's in the market place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 
Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed ; his 
plans 

Soared up again like fire. 



The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A him the mother-eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
"I'm killed, Sire!" and his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

— Robert Browning. 



190 A COMFORTER. 

A COMFORTER. 

WILL she come to me, little Effie ? 
Will she come in my arms to rest, 
And nestle her head on my shoulder, 
While the sun goes clown in the west ? 



" I and Effie will sit together, 

All alone, in this great arm-chair ; — 

Is it silly to mind it, darling, 
When life is so hard to bear ? 



" No one comforts me like my Effie ; 

Yet I think she does not try, — 
Only looks with a wistful wonder 

Why grown people ever should cry ; 



" While her little soft arms close tighter 
Round my neck in their clinging hold ; • 

Well, I must not cry on your hair, dear, 
For my tears might tarnish the gold. 



" I am tired of trying to read, dear ; 

It is worse to talk and seem gay : 
There are some kinds of sorrow, Effie, 

It is useless' to thrust away. 



A COMFORTER. I 93 

" But my comforter knows a lesson 
Wiser, truer than all the rest : — ■ 

That to help and heal a sorrow, 
Love and silence are always best. 

" Well, who is my comforter — tell me ? 

Effie smiles, but she will not speak ; 
Or look up through the long curled lashes 

That are shading her rosy cheek. 



"Is she thinking of talking fishes, 
The blue-bird, or magical tree ? 

Perhaps / am thinking, my darling, 
Of something that never can be. 



"You long — don't you, clear? — for the Genii, 
Who were slaves of lamps and rings ? 

And I — I am sometimes afraid, dear, 
I want as impossible things. 



" But hark ! there is Nurse calling Effie ! 

It is bed-time, so run away ! 
And I must go back, or the others 

Will be wondering why I stay. 



"So good-night to my darling Effie ; 

Keep happy, sweetheart, and grow wise ! 



194 THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS. 

Here's one kiss for her golden tresses, 
And two for her sleepy eyes." 

— Adelaide Anne Proctor, 

THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS. 

THE White Turkey was dead ! The White 
Turkey was dead ! 
How the news through the barn-yard went 
flying ! 
Of a mother bereft, four small turkeys were left, 

And their case for assistance was crying. 
E'en the Peacock respectfully folded his tail, 

As a suitable symbol of sorrow, 
And his plainer wife said, " Now the old bird 
is dead, 
Who will tend her poor chicks on the mor- 
row ? 

And when evening around them comes dreary 
and chill 
Who above them will watchfully hover ? " 
" Two, each night, / will tuck 'neath my wings," 
said the Duck, 
" Though I've eight of my own I must cover." 
" I have so much to do ! For the bugs and the 
worms, 
In the garden, 'tis tiresome pickin'; 
I have nothing to spare, — for my own I must 
care," 
Said the Hen with one chicken. 



THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS. 195 

"How I wish," said the Goose, "I could be 
of some use, 
For my heart is with Jove over-brimming; 
The next morning that's fine, they shall go with 
my nine 
Little yellow-backed goslings out swimming ! " 
" I will do what I can,"' the old Dorking put in, 

" And for help they may call upon me, too, 
Though I've ten of my own that are only half-grown, 
. And a great deal of trouble to see to. 
But those poor little things, they are all heads 
and wings, 
And their bones through their feathers are 
stickiiy ! " 
" Very hard it may be, but, O, don't come to me ! " 
Said the Hen with one chicken. 



"-Half my care, I suppose, there is nobody 
knows, — 
I'm the most over-burdened of mothers ! 
They must learn, little elves ! how to scratch 
for themselves, 
And not seek to depend upon others.'' 
She went by with a cluck, and the Goose to 
the Duck 
Exclaimed, in surprise, " Well, I never ! " 
Said the Duck, "I declare, those who have 
the least care, 
You will find, are complaining forever ! 



■ 



196 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS. 

And when all things appear to look threatening 
and drear, 
And when troubles your pathway are thick in, 
For aid in your woe, O, beware how you go 
To a Hen with one chicken ! " 

— Marian Douglas* 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 
FROM GHENT TO AIX. 

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all 
three. 
"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts 

undrew ; 
' ; Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through ; 
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest. 
And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing 

our place ; 
I turned in my saddle and made its girthu 

tight, 
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the piquj 

right, 
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS. 197 

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew 

near 
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned 

clear ; 
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 
At Duffield, 'twas morning as plain as could be ; 
And from Wecheln church-steeple we heard the 

half-chime, 
So Jons broke silence with, " Yet there is 

time ! " 



At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
And against him the cattle stood blac^ every 

one, 
To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past, 
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, 
With resolute shoulders each butting away 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its 

spray. 



And his low head and crest, just one sharp 

ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his 

track ; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that 

glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master 

askance ! 



198 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS. 

And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye 

and anon 
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 



By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, 
" Stay spur ! 

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in 
her, 

We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick 
wheeze 

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and stag- 
gering knees, 

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 

As dowrTon her haunches she shuddered and sank. 



So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
Past Loos and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble 

like chaff : 
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprung white, 
And " Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in 

sight ! " 



" How they'll greet us ! " — and all in a moment 

his roan 
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a 

stone ; 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS. 199 

And there was my Roland, to bear the whole, 

weight 
Of the m .vS which alone could save Aix from 

her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the 

brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye-socket's rim. 



Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let 

fall, 
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 
Called my Roland his pet name, my horse with- 
out peer ; 
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise 

bad or good, 
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 



And all I remember is friends flocking round 
As I sat with his head 'twixt- my knees on the 

ground, 
And no voice but was praising this Roland of 

mine, 
As I poured down his throat our last measure 

of wine, 
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
Was no more than his due who brought good 

news from Ghent. 

— Robert Brozvning. 



FARM-YARD SONG. 

FARM-YARD SONG. 

OVER the hill the farm-boy goes, 
His shadow lengthens along the land 
A giant staff in a giant hand ; 
In the poplar-tree, above the spring, 
The katydid begins to sing ; 

The early dews are falling ; — 
Into the stone-heap darts the mink ; 
The swallows skim the river's brink ; 
And home to trie woodland fly the crows, 
When over the hill the farm-boy goes, 
Cheerily calling, — 
" Co', boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! co' ! " 
Farther, farther over the hill, 
Faintly calling, calling still, — 
" CV, boss ! co', boss ! co' ! co' ! M 



Into the yard the farmer goes, 

With grateful heart at the close of clay: 

Harness and chain are hung away ; 

In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plough; 

The straw's in the stack, the hay in the mow, 

The cooling dews are falling ; — - 
The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, 
The pigs come grunting to his feet, 
The whinnying mare her master knows, 
When into the yard the farmer goes, 

His cattle calling, — 



FARM- YARD SONG. 



" Co', boss ! co ? , boss ! co ? ! co' ! co' ! ; ' 

While still the cow-boy, far away, 
Goes- seeking those that have gone astray,- 
"Co\ boss! co', boss 4 co' ! co ! " 




Now to her task the milkmaid goes. 

The cattle come crowding through the gate, 

Lowing, pushing, little and great ; 

About the trough, by the farm-yard pump, 

The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump 

While the pleasant dews are falling; — 
The new milch heifer is quick and shy, 
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye ; 
And the white stream into the bright pail flows, 
When to her task the milkmaid goes, 
Soothingly calling, — 

" So, boss! so, boss! so! so! so ! " 
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool. 
And sits and milks in the. twilight cook 

Saying " So ! so, boss ! so ! so ! " 



2 02 THE MAY QUEEN. 

To supper at last the farmer goes. 
The apples are pared, the paper read, 
The stories are told, then all to bed. 
Without the ciickets' ceaseless song 
Makes shrill the silence all night long; 

The heavy dews are falling. 
The housewife's hand has turned the lock ; 
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock ; 
The household sinks to deep repose ; 
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes 
Singing, calling, — 

" Co', boss ! co', boss ! co 1 ! co ? ! co' ! " 
And oft the milkmaid in her dreams, 
Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, 

Murmuring, " So, boss ! so ! " 

— J. 7\ Trowbridge, 



THE MAY QUEEN. 

PARI' I. 

YOU must wake and call me early, call me 
earh', mother dear ; 
To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad 

New Year ; 
Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, 

merriest day ; 
For I'm to be Queen o ? the May, mother, I'm 
to be Queen o' the May. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 203 

There's many a black, black eye, they say, but 

none so bright as mine ; 
There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and 

Caroline ; 
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land 

they say ; 
So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to 

be -Queen o' the May. 

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall 
never wake, 

If you do not call me loud, when the day be- 
gins to break : 

But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds 
and garlands gay ; 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 
to be Queen o' the May. 

As I came up the valley, whom think you should 

I see, 
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the 

hazel tree ? 
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave 

him yesterday, — 
But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be Queen o' the May. 

He thought I was a ghost, for I was all in 

white, 
And I ran by him without speakirg like 'a flash 

of liffht. 



204 THE MAY QUEEN. 

They call me cruel-hearted ; but I care not what 

they say, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be Queen o' the May. 

They say he's dying all for love ; but that can 
never be ; 

They say his heart is breaking, mother ; what is 
that to me ? 

There's many a bolder lad'll woo me any sum- 
mer day, 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 
to be Queen o' the May. 

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the 

green, 
And you'll be there too, mother, to see me made 

the queen ; 
For the shepherd lads on every side'll come from 

far away, 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be Queen o' the May. 

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its 

wax}' bowers, 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint, 

sweet cuckoo-flowers, 
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in 

swamps and hollows gray, 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be Queen o' the May. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 20^ 

The night winds come and go, mother, upon the 

meadow-grass, 
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten 

as they pass ; 
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of 

the livelong day, 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be Queen o' the May. 




All the valley, mother, "11 be fresh and green and 

still, 
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all 

the hill, 
And the rivulet in the flowery dale'll merrily 

glance and play ; 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm 

to be queen o' the May. 



2o6 THE KAY QUEEN. 

So you must wake and call me early, call me 
earh', mother dear ; 

To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad 
New Year ; 

To-morrow'll be of all the year the maddest, mer- 
riest day ; 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to 
be Queen o' the May. 



PART II. 

NEW YEAR'S EYE. 

If You're waking call me early, call me early, 

mother dear, 
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year ; 
It is the last New Year that I shall ever see, 
Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and 

think no more of me. 



To-night I saw the sun set : he set and left 

behind 
The good old year, the clear old time, and all 

my peace of mind ; , 

And the New Year's coming up, mother, but I 

shall never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon 

the tree. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 207 

Last May we made a crown of flowers, we had 

a merry day ; 
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made 

me Queen of May ; 
And we danced about the May-pole and in the 

hazel copse, 
Till Charles's wain came out above the tall white 

chimney-tops. 

There's not a flower on all the hills : the frost 

is on the pane : 
I only wish to live till the snow-drops come 

again : 
I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come 

out on high ; 
I long to see a flower so before the day I 

die. 

The building rook '11 caw from the windy, tall 
elm tree, 

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, 

And the swallow '11 come back again with summer, 
o'er the wave, 

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the moul- 
dering grave. 

Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave 

of mine, 
In the early, early morning, the summer sun'll 

shine, 



2o8 THE MAY QUEEN. 

Before the red cock crows from the faim upon 

the hill, 
When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the 

world is still. 



When the flowers come again, mother, beneath 

the waning light, 
You'll never see me more in the long, gray fields 

at night ; 
When from the dry, dark wood the summer airs 

blow cool 
On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the 

bulrush in the pool. 



You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the 

hawthorn shade, 
And you'll come sometimes and see me where 

I am lowly laid. 
1 shall not forget you, mother; I shall hear you 

when you pass, 
With your feet above my head in the long and 

pleasant grass. 



I have been wild and wayward, but you'll for- 
give me now ; 

You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek 
and brow; — 



THE MAY QUEEN. 209 

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief 

be wild ; 
You should not fret for me, mother, — you have 

another child. 



If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my 

resting-place ; 
Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look 

upon your face ; 
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken 

what you say, 
And be often, often with you, when you think 

I'm far away. 



Good-night ! gcod-night ! When I have said 

good-night forevermore, 
And you see me carried out from the threshold 

of the dcor, 
Don't let Effie come to see me till my gra\ e 

be growing green : 
She'll be a better child to you than ever I have 

been. 



She'll find my garden tools upon the granary 

floor : 
Let her take 'em : they are hers : I shall never 

garden more : 



2io THE MAY QUEEN. 

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose- 
bush that I set 

About the parlor window, and the box of mign- 
onette. 

Good-night, sweet mother ; call me before the 

day is born. 
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn; 
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad 

New r Year ; 
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, 

mother dear. 

PART III. 

CONCLUSION. 

I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I 
am ; 

And in the fields all round I hear the bleat- 
ing of the lamb. 

How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of 
the year ! 

To die before the snowdrop came, and now the 
violet's here. 

Oh, sweet is the new violet that comes beneath 

the skies, 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that 

cannot rise, 



THE MAY QUEEN. 211 

And sweet is all the land about, and all the 

flowers that blow, 
And sweeter far is death than life to me that 

Ions: to go ! 



It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the 

blessed sun, 
And now it seems so hard to stay; and yet 

His will be clone ! 
But still I think it can't be long before I find 

release ; 
And that good man, the clergyman, has told me 

words of peace. 



Oh, blessings on his kindly voice, and on his 

silver hair! 
And blessings on his whole life long, until he 

meet me there ! 
Oh, blessings on his kindly heart, and on his 

silver head ! 
A thousand times I blessed him, as he knelt 

beside mv bed. 



He showed me all the mercy," for he taught me 

all the sin : 
Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's 
One will let me in : 



212 THE MAY QUEEN. 

Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that 

could be, 
For my desire is but to pass to Him that died 

for me. 



I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the 

death-watch beat, 
There came a sweeter token when the night and 

morning meet. 
But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your 

hand in mine, 
And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the 



All in the wild March morning I heard the 

angels call : 
It was when the moon was setting, and the 

dark was over all ; 
The trees began to whisper, and the wind began 

to roll, 
And in the wild March morning, I heard them 

call my soul. 



For, lying broad awake, I thought of you and 

Effie dear ; 
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no 

longer here : 



THE MAY QUEEN. 213 

With all my strength I prayed for both, and so 

I felt resigned, 
And up the valley came a swell of music on 

the wind. 



I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in 

my bed, 
And then did something speak to me — I know 

not what was said, 
For great delight and shuddering took hold of 

all my mind, 
And up the valley came again the music on the 

wind. 



But you were sleeping ; and I said " It's not for 

them : it's mine." 
And if it comes three times, I thought, I take 

it for a sign. 
And once again it came, and close beside the 

window-bars, 
Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die 

among the stars. 



So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. 

I know 
The blessed music went that way my soul will 

have to go, 



214 THE MAY QUEEN. 

And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go 

to-day ; 
But, Effie, you must comfort her, when I am 

passed away. 



And sav to Robin a kind word, and tell him 

not to fret : 
There's many a worthier than I would make him 

happy yet. 
If I had lived — I cannot tell — I might have 

been his wife ; 
But all these things have ceased to be, with my 

desire of life. 



Oh, look ! the sun begins to rise, the heavens 

are in a glow ; 
He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of 

them I know. 
And there I move no longer now, and there his 

light may shine — 
Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than 

mine. 



Oh, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere 

this day is done 
The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond 

the sun — 




i v : 



ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. 217 

Forever and forever with those just souls and 

true ! 
And what is life, that we should moan? why 

make we such ado ? 



Forever and forever, all in a blessed home, 
And there to wait a little while till you and 

Effie come ; 
To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon 

your breast, 
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the 

weary are at rest. 

— Tennyson, 



ABOU BEX ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. 

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe in- 
crease ! ) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw, within the moonlight* in his room, 
Making it rich, like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold. 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And to the Presence in the room he said, 
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, 
And with a look made all of sweet accord 
Answered, " The names of those who love the 
Lord." 



2l8 LITTLE RY LITTLE. 

" And is mine one ? " said Abou. " Nay, not 

so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
"But cheerily still, and said, " I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 



The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
It came again with a great awakening light, 
And showed the names whom love of God had 

blest, 
And lo ! Ben Aclhem's name led all the rest. 

— Leigh Hunt, 



LITTLE BY LITTLE. 

LITTLE by little," said a thoughtful boy, 
" Moment by moment, I'll well employ, 
Learning a little every day, 
And not spending all my time in play; 
And still this rule in my mind shall dwell: 
i Whatever I do, I will do it well.' 
Little by little I'll learn to know 
The treasured wisdom of Ions: aero ; 
And one of these days perhaps we'll see 
That the world will be the better for me." 



And do you not think that this simple plan 
Made him a wise and a useful man ? 



THE TIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 219 

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIX: 

HAMELIN Town's in Brunswick, 
By famous Hanover City ; 
The river Weser deep and wide 
Washes its walls on the southern side ; 
A pleasanter spot you never spied ; 
But when begins my dirty. 

Almost five hundred years ago, 
To see the townsfolk suffer so 
From vermin, was a pity. 

Rats! 
They fought the dogs and killed the cats, 

And bit the babies in their cradles. 
And ate the cheeses out of the vats. 

And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, 
Split open the kegs of salted sprats. 
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, 
And even spoiled the women's chats, 
By drowning their speaking, 
With shrieking and squeaking 
In fifty different sharps and flats. 

At last the people in a body 
To the Town-hall came flocking : 

"Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy 
And as for our Corporation ---shocking 
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 
For dolts that can't or won't determine 
What's best to rid us of our vermin ! 



220 THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 

You hope because you're old and obese, 
To find in the furry civic robe ease ! 
Rouse up, Sirs ! Give your brains a racking 
To find the remedy we're lacking, 
Or, sure as fate we'll send you packing!" 
At this the Mayor and Corporation 
Quaked with a mighty consternation. 

An hour they sat in council, 

At length the Mayor broke silence : 
" For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell ; 

I wish I were a mile hence! 
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain — 
I'm sure my poor head aches again, 
I've scratched it so, and all in vain. 
Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap ! " 
Just as he said this, what should hap 
At the chamber door, but a gentle tap ? 
" Bless us," cried the Mayor, " what's that? 
Anything like the sound of a rat 
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat! 

"Come in," the Mayor cried, looking bigger: 
And in did come the strangest figure! 
His queer long coat from heel to head 
Was half of yellow, and half of red ; 
And he himself was tall and thin, 
With sharp blue eyes each like a pin, 
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, 
No tuft on cheek, nor beard' on chin, 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIX. 223 

But lips where smiles went out and in. 

There was no guessing his kith and kin! 

And nobody could enough admire 

The tall man and his quaint attire : 

Quoth one, " It's as if my great-grandsire, 

Starting up at the trump of Doom's tone, 

Had walked this way from his painted tombstone ! " 

He advanced to the council table : 

And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, 

By means of a secret charm to draw 

All creatures living beneath the sun, 

That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, 

After me so as you never saw ! 

And I chiefly use my charm 

On creatures that do people harm. 

The mole, the toad, the newt, the viper; 

And people call me the Pied Piper. 

,; Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am. 

In Tartary I freed the Cham 

Last June, from lib huge swarm of gnats; 

I eased in Asia the Nizam 

Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats : 

And as for what your brain bewilders, 

If I can rid your town of rats 

Will you give a thousand guilders?"' 

"One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation 

Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. 

Into the street the Piper stept, 
Smiling first a little -smile, 



224 THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 

As if he knew what magic slept 

In his quiet pipe the- while; 

Then like a musical adept, 

To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, 

And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, 

Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled ; 

And ere three shrill notes the pipe had uttered; 

You heard, as if an army muttered ; 

And the muttering grew to a grumbling; 

And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; 

And out of the houses the rats came tumbling ; 

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, 

Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny < rats, 

Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, 

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, 

Cocking tails, and pricking whiskers, 

Families by tens and dozens, 

Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — 

Followed the Piper for their lives. 

From street to street he piped, advancing, 

And step for step they followed dancing. 

Until they came to the river YVeser 

Wherein all plunged and perished, 

Save one, who stout as Julius Caesar, 

Swam -across, and lived to carry 

(As he the manuscript he cherished) 

To Rat-land home his commentary, 

Which w r as, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, 

I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, 

And putting apples wondrous ripe 

Into a cider-press's gripe; 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 225 

And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, 

And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards, 

And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks, 

And a breaking the hoops of butter casks; 

And it seemed as if a voice 

(Sweeter far than by harp, or by psaltery 

Is breathed) called out, ' Oh rats, rejoice ! 

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery ! 

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, 

Breakfast, dinner, supper, luncheon ! ' 

And just as a bulky sugar puncheon, 

All ready staved, like a great sun shone 

Glorious, scarce an inch before me, 

Just as methought it said, ' Come, bore me ! ' 

I found the Weser rolling o'er me;' 

You should have heard the Hamelin people 
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple; 
"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles! 
Poke out the nests, and block up the holes ! 
Consult with carpenters and builders, 
And leave in our town not even a trace 
Of the rats!" When suddenly, up the face 
Of the Piper perched in the market-place, 
With a " First, if you please, my thousand guilders ! ,; 

A thousand guilders ! The Mayor looked blue, 

So did the Corporation, too, 

For Council dinners made rare havoc 

With Claret, Moselle, Vin-cle-Grave, Hock; 



226 THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELItf. 

And half the money would replenish 
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. 
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow 
With a gypsy coat of red and yellow ! _ 
"Besides," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing 

wink, 
" Our business was down at the river's brink ; 
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, 
And what's dead can't come to life, I think. 
So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink 
From the duty of giving you something to drink, 
And a matter of money to put in your poke ; 
But, as for the guilders, what we spoke 
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. 
Beside, our losses have made us thrifty : 
A thousand guilders! come, take fifty!" 

The Piper's face fell, and he cried, 

" No trifling ! I can't wait ? beside 

I've promised to visit by dinner-time 

Bagdat, and accept the prime 

Of the head-cook's pottage, all he's rich in, 

For having left in the caliph's kitchen, 

Of a nest of scorpions no survivor. 

With him I proved no bargain-driver, 

With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! 

And folks who put me in a passion 

May find me pipe to another fashion." 

" How ? " cried the Mayor, " d'ye think I'll brook 

.Being worse treated than the cook ? 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 227 

Insulted by a lazy ribald 

With idle pipe and vesture piebald ? 

You threaten us, fellow ? Do your worst, 

Blow your pipe there till you burst." 

Once more he stept into the street, 

And to his lips again 
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; 

And ere he. blew three notes (such sweet 
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning 

Never gave the enraptured air), 
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling, 
Of merry crowds justling at, pitching and hustling, 
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, 
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering. 
And like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, 
Out came the children running : 
All the little boys and girls, 
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, 
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, 
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after 
The wonderful music, with shouting and laughter. 

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood 

As if they were changed into blocks of wood, 

Unable to move a step, or cry 

To the children merrily skipping by — 

And could only follow with the eye 

That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. 

And now the Mayor was on the rack, 



228 THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 

And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, 

As the Piper turned from the High Street 

To where the Weser rolled its waters 

Right in the way of their sons and daughters ! 

However he turned from south to west, 

And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed. 

And after him the children pressed ; 

Great was the joy in every breast. 

" He never can cross that mighty top ; 

He's forced to let the piping drop, 

And then we shall see our children stop ! " 

When, lo ! as they reached the mountain's side, 

A wondrous portal opened wide, 

As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; 

And the Piper advanced, and the children followed. 

And when all were in to the very last, 

The door in the mountain side shut fast. 

Did I say all ? No ! One was lame, 

And could not dance the whole of the way ; 

And in after years, if you would blame 

His sadness, he was used to say, — 

u It's dull in our town since my playmates left ! 

I can't forget that I'm bereft 

Of all the pleasant sights they see, 

Which the Piper also promised me : 

For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 

Joining the town, and just at hand, 

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, 

And flowers put forth a fairer hue, 

And everything was strange and new; 



THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 229 

The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 

And their dogs outran our fallow-deer, 

And honey-bees had lost their stings, 

And horses were born with eagles' wings* 

And just as I became assured 

My lame foot would be speedily cured, 

The music stopped, and I stood still, 

And I found myself outside the hill, 

Left' alone against my will, 

To go now limping as before, 

And never hear of that country more ! " ■ 

The Mayor sent east, west, north, and south 
To offer the Piper by word of mouth, 

Wherever it was man's lot to find him, 
Silver and gold to his heart's content, 
If he'd only return the way he went, 
And bring the children behind him. 
But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, 
And Piper and dancers were gone forever, 
They made a decree that lawyers never 
Should think their records dated duly, 
If, after the day of the month and year 
These words did not as well appear, 

" And so long after what happened here 
On the twenty-second of July, 
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six : " 
And the better in memory to fix 
The place of the children's last retreat, 
They called it, the Pied Piper's Street — 



230 THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. 

Where any one playing on pipe or tabor, 
Was sure for the future to lose his labor. 
Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern 

To shock with mirth a street so solemn 
But opposite the place of the cavern 

They wrote the story on a column, 
And on the great church window painted 
The same, to make the world acquainted 
How their children were stolen away; — 
And there it stands to this very day. 
And I must not omit to say 
That in Transylvania there's a tribe 
Of alien people, that ascribe 
The outlandish ways and dress 
On which their neighbors lay such stress, 
To their fathers and mothers having risen 
Out of some subterraneous prison ' 
Into which tliey were trepanned 
Long ago in a mighty band, 
Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, 
But how or why, they don't understand. 



So Willy, let you and me be wipers 

Of scores out with all men, — especially pipers ; 

And whether they pipe us free from rats or 

from mice, 
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our 

promise. 

— Robert Browning. 



V 




i | i'l!ii;il!!i: ; ii/!lli!Mi;1i' ! 'ttHi! ,.V, :Lk ,; : fe ii'jAlif , . '/ , ; v ! ; ' -iili'll/ifjllffl^ 



AX EASTER POEM. 233 

AN EASTER POEM. 

BURSTING from earth in air of early spring 
I found a lily growing sweet and wild; 
And plucked the blossom, snowy fair, to bring, 
As type of resurrection, to my child : 

With it to show 
How- out of death divinest life might grow. 

I told her then what Easter meant; and why 
There seemed such gladness in the world to 

reign. 
Why clear- voiced choirs sang so exultant lv 
The joyful anthem " Christ is risen again ! " 

That, dying, He 
Had taken from the grave its victory. 

" Because 'He died and rose again/" I said, 
u The dark and shadowy valley none need fear ; 
The little brother that to you seemed dead 
Was only on Christ's bosom heavenly near; 

There is no tomb 
Can prison or hide the soul's immortal bloom." 

O ! impotence of words ! Who can explain 
This wondrous mystery ? And yet. perchance. 
Through one white lily on God's altar lain 
My child may grasp the flower's significance, 

And. kneeling, say. 
"A little child doth yield her heart to-day 1" 

— Wide Awake. 



234 BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 

THE LIFE-WEB. 

TINY threads make up the web, 
Little acts make up life's span 
Would you ever happy be, 

Spin them rightly while you can. 
When the thread is broken quite, 
Too late then to spin aright. 



BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 

THE warrior bowed his crested head, and 
tamed his heart of fire, 
And sued the haughty King to free his long- 
imprisoned sire ; 
" I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring 

my captive train, 
I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! O ! 
break my father's chain ! " 



" Rise, rise ! ev'n now thy father comes, a ran 

som'd man this clay , 
Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will 

meet him on his way." 
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded 

on his steed, 
And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's 

foamy speed. 



BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 235 

And lo ! from far, as on they press'd, there 

" came a glittering band, 
With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a 

leader in the land ; 
" Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there in very 

truth is he, 
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearn'd 

so long to see." 

His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heav'd, 

his cheek's hue came and went ; 
He reach'd that gray-haired chieftain's side, and 

there dismounting bent ; 
A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand 

he took, — 
What was there in its touch that all his fiery 

spirit shook ? 

That hand was cold, a frozen thing, it dropp'd 

from his like lead; 
He looked up to the face above, — the face was 

of the dead ! 
A plume waved o'er the noble brow, — the brow 

was fixed and white ; 
He met at last his father's eyes, but in them 

was no sight ! 

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed; but 
who could paint that gaze ? 

They hush'd their very hearts that saw its hor- 
ror and amaze. 



236 BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 

They might have chained him as before C v 

stony form he stood, 
For the power was stricken from his arm, a- : 

from his lip the blood. 

"Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept 

like childhood then : 
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears 

of war-like men ! 
He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all 

his young renown, 
He flung his falchion from his side, and in the 

dust sat down. 

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his 

darkly mournful brow, 
"No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift 

the sword for now. 
My King is false, my hope betray'd, ' my father 

— O, the worth, 
The glory, and the loveliness are pass'd away 

from earth. 

" I thought to stand where banners waved, my 

sire, beside thee yet ; 
I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's 

free soil had met ; 
Thou wouldst have known my spirit then : for 

thee my fields were won, 
And thou hast perish'd in thy chains, as though 

thou hadst no son ! " 



BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. l^l 

Then starting from the ground once more, he 

seized the monarch's rein, 
Amidst the pale and wilder'd look of all die 

courtier-train ; 
And with a fierce, o'er-mastering grasp the rearing 

war-horse led, 
And sternly set them face to face, — the King 

before the dead. 

" Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's 

hand to kiss ? 
Be still, and gaze thou on, false King ! and tell 

me, what is this ? 
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — 

give answer, where are they ? 
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send 

life through this cold clay. 

" Into these glassy eyes put light, — be still ! 

keep down thine ire ! — 
Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth 

is not my sire. 
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom 

my blood was shed : 
Thou canst not? — and a king! — his dust be 

mountains on thy head ! " 

He loosed the steed, his slack hand fell ; upon 

the silent face 
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turn'd 

from that sad place. 



238 THE BROKEN TOYS. 

His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in 

martial strain, 
His banner led the spears no more amidst the 

hills of Spain, 

— Felicia Hemans. 



THE BROKEN TOYS. 

FROM a dark alley that the sunbeams shun 
A poor old woman feebly made her way, 
And to the market-places, one by one, 

She bore some fragile toys on rustic tray, — 

Toys that her crippled son had learned to carve 
In that dear Tyrol home, long, long ago ; 

And now, lest in their solitude they starve, 
To sell them all her feeble feet must go. 



Her bare and withered arm, though light the load, 
Trembles with age and want ; still, wan and 
weak, 

Far and yet farther from their drear abode, 

She staggers onward nor finds voice to speak. 

For who would stop to hear her jargon there, 
Or for a moment note her tearful sighs? 

She could but turn her wares, all gilded fair, 
And tempt some gen'rous soul with pleading eyes. 



The broken toys. 239 

Now to gay avenue her steps have led ; 

A pressing careless throng o'erturn the tray 
On which to her were raiment, fire and bread : 

Beneath their feet the toys all ruined lay ! 

And- far above her bitter anguished cry 

The mocking laugh of thoughtless school-girls 
- rang ; 

When suddenly a fair young passer-by 

From out that selfish crowd in pity sprang. 

Her dainty hat, in which rich golden store 
She quickly poured, w 7 as passed to gazers 
each, 

And there was that in her brave features more 
Than loud appeal or statesman's silv'ry speech. 

And fashion's tide that moment ceased to glide, 
While golden tresses hid the blushing face 

Of her — some haughty grandee's pet and pride — 
Who roused true manhood with such easy 
grace. 

Around the old dame's wares stood tearful men ; 

A thrill of pity touched through living mass ; 

All heads were bared and all breathed softly 

when 

They watched that darling child in silence 

pass. 



2J.O A LITTLE CHILD S FANCIES. 

And angels smiled to see such scene below; 

On glory's ladder sought the nearest round. 
Ah ! who can tell how bright such deed will 
glow 
In that great volume Mercy's hand has bound ? 
— George Bancroft Griffith. 



A LITTLE CHILD'S FANCIES. 



T THI 



NK that the world was finished at 
night, 

Or the stars would not have been made ; 
For they wouldn't have thought of having the 
light, 
If they hadn't first seen the shade. 

And then, again, I alter my mind, 

And think perhaps it was day, 
And the starry night was only designed 

For a little child tired of play. 

And I think that an angel, when nobody knew, 
With a window pushed up very high, 

Let some of the seeds of the flowers fall through, 
From the gardens they have in the sky. 

For they couldn't think here of lilies so white, 
And such beautiful roses, I know; 



A LITTLE CHILD'S FANCIES. 



241 




But I wonder when falling from such a height, 
The dear little seeds should grow! 



And then, when the face of the angel was 
turned, 
I think that the birds flew by, 



242 A LITTLE CHILD S FANCIES. 

And are singing to us the songs they learned 
On the opposite side of the sky. 



And a rainbow must be the shining below 
Of a place in Heaven's floor that is thin, 

Right close to the door where the children go, 
When the dear Lord lets them in. 



And I think that the clouds that float in the 
skies 
Are the curtains that they drop down, 
For fear when we look we should dazzle our 
eyes, 
As they each of them put on their crown. 

I do not know why the water was sent, 

Unless, perhaps, it might be 
God wanted us all to know what it meant 

When we read of the "Jasper Sea." 



Oh ! the world where we live is a lovely place, 

But it oftentimes makes me sigh, 
For I'm always trying causes to trace, 

And keep thinking " Wherefore ?" and "Why?" 



Ah ! dear little child, the longing you feel 
Is the stir of immortal wings, 



NOREMBEGA. 243 

But infinite Love one day will reveal 
The most hidden aud puzzling things. 

You have only your duty to try and do, 

To be happy, and rest content; 
For by being good and by being true 

You will find out all that is meant! 

— Mrs. L. C. Whiton. 



DOING OR DREAMING. 

BE good, fair maid, and let who will be clever 
Do noble things, not dream them all day 
long ; 
And so make life, death, and that vast forever 
One grand, sweet song. 



NOREMBEGA. 

THE winding way the serpent takes 
The mystic water took, 
From where, to count its beaded lakes, 
The forest sped its brook. 

A narrow space 'twixt shore and shore, 

For sun or stars to fall, 
While evermore, behind, before, 

Closed in the forest wall. 



244 NOREMBEGA. 

The dim wood hiding underneath 
Wan flowers without a . name ; 

Life tangled with decay and death, 
League after league the same. 



Unbroken over swamp and hill 
The rounding shadow lay, 

Save where the river cut at will 
A pathway to the day. 



Beside that track of air and light, 
Weak as a child unweaned, 

At shut of day a Christian knight 
Upon his henchman leaned. 



The embers of the sunset's fires 
Along the clouds burned down ! 

" I see," he said, " the domes and spires 
Of Norembega town." 

" Alack, the domes, O master mine, 

• Are golden clouds on high ; 
Yon spire is but the branchless pine 
That cuts the evening sky." 

14 Oh hush and hark ! what sounds are these 
But chants and holy hymns ? " 



NOR EM BEG A. 



1 45 



"Thou hear'st the breeze that stirs the trees 
Through all their leafy limbs." 

" Is it a chapel bell that fills 
The air with its low tone ? " 
" Thou hear'st the tinkle of the rills, 
. The insect's vesper drone." 

"The Christ be praised! — He sets for me 

A blessed cross in sight ! " 
" Now, nay, 'tis but yon blasted tree 

With two gaunt arms outright ! " 



" Be it wind so sad or tree so stark, 
It mattereth not, my knave ; 

Methinks to funeral hymns I hark, 
The cross is for my grave." 



" My life is sped ; I shall not see 
My home-set sails again ; 

The sweetest eyes of Normandie 
Shall watch for me in vain. - 



"Yet onward still to ear and eye 
The baffling marvel calls ; 

I fain would look before I die 
On Norembega's walls. 



246 NOREMBEGA. 

" So, haply, it should be thy part 

At Christian feet to lay 
The mystery of the desert's heart 

My dead hand plucked away. 

" Leave me an hour of rest ; go thou 
And look from yonder heights ; 

Perchance the valley even now 
Is starred with city lights." 



The henchman climbed the nearest hill, 

He saw no tower nor town, 
But, through the drear woods, lone and still 

The river rolling down. 



He heard the stealthy feet of things 
Whose shapes he could not see, 

A flutter as of evil wings, 
The fall of a dead tree. 



The pines stood black against the moon, 

A sword of fire beyond ; 
He heard the wolf howl, and the loon 

Laugh from his reedy pond. 

He turned him back : u O master dear, 
x Ae are but men misled : 



NOREMBEGA 247 



And thou hast sought a city here, 
To find a grove instead." 



" As God shall will ! what matters where 

A true man's cross may stand, 
So Heaven be o'er it here as there 
- In pleasant Norman land ? 



" These woods, perchance, no secret hide 

Of lordly tower and hall ; 
Von river in its wanderings wide 

Has washed no city wall ; 



"Yet mirrored in the sullen stream 
The holy stars are given : 

Is Norembega, then, a dream - 
Whose waking is in Heaven ? 



" No builded wonder of these lands 
My weary eyes shall see ; 

A city never made with hands 
Alone awaiteth me — 



" * Urbs Syon mystical I see 
Its mansions passing fair, 

1 Condita caelo ;' let me be, 
Dear Lord, a dweller there ? 



248 NOREMBEGA. 

Above the dying exile hung 
The vision of the bard, 

As faltered on his failing tongue 
The song of good Bernard. 



The henchman dug at dawn a grave 
Beneath the hemlocks brown, 

And to the desert's keeping gave 
The lord of fief and town. 



Years after, when the Sieur Champlain 
Sailed .up the unknown stream, 

And Norembega proved again 
A shadow and a dream, 



He found the Norman's nameless grave 
Within the hemlock's shade, 

And, stretching wide its arms to save, 
The sign that God had made, — 



The cross-boughed tree that marked the spot 

And made it holy ground ; 
He needs the earthly city not 

Who hath the heavenly found. 

— /. G. Whittier. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 249 

' THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

IT was the schooner Hesperus 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, * 

That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper, he stood beside the helm ; 

His pipe was in his mouth, 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke, now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old sailor, 

Had sailed to -the Spanish main : 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 

"Last night the moon had a golden ring, 

And to-night no moon we see ! " 
The skipper blew a whiff from his pipe, 

And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 
A gale from the northeast ; 



250 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength; 
She shuddered and paused like a frightened steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 



" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 



He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 



" Oh, father ! I hear the church-bells ring ; 

Oh say, what may it be?" 
"'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" 

And he steered for the open sea. 



" Oh, father ! I hear the sound of guns ; 

Oh say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 253 

"Oh, father! I see a gleaming light; 

Oh say, what may it be?" 
But the father answered never a word — 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies. 

The, lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden * clasped her hands, and prayed 

That saved she might be; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept 
Toward the reef of Norman's Woe, 

And ever, the fitful gusts between, 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows; 

She drifted a dreary wreck ; 
And a whooping billow swept the crew, 

Like icicles, from her deck. 



254 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool ; 
But the cruel rocks they gored her side — 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 



Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank — 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 



At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast 

To see the form of a maiden fair 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 



The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 



Such was the wreck of the Hesperus 

in the midnight and the snow; 
Christ save us all from a death like this 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 

— Henry W. Longfellow. 



THE HIGH TIDE. 255 

THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF 
LINCOLNSHIRE. 

THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
The ringers rang by two, by three ; 
" Pull, if ye never pulled before : 

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. 
" Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! 
Play all your changes, all your swells, 

Play uppe ' The Brides of Enderby ! ' " 

Men say it was a stolen tyde, — 

The Lord that sent it, He knows all; 

But in myne ears doth still abide 
The message that the bells let fall : 

And there was nought of strange, beside 

The flights of mews and peewits pied, 
By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. 

I sat and spun within the doore, 

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; 

The level sun, like ruddy ore, 
Lay sinking in the barren skies ; 

And dark against day's golden death 

She moved where Lindis wandereth, — 

My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 

" Cusha! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling, 
Ere the early dews were falling, 



256 THE HIGH TIDE, 

Farre away I heard her song. 

"Cusha! Cusha!" all along; 
Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 

Floweth, floweth, 
From the meads where melick groweth 
Faintly came her milking-song. . 



" Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling, 

" For the dews will soone be falling ; 

Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow ; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot, 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, 
Hollow, hollow ; 
Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow, 
From the clovers lift your head ; 
. Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot, 
Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow, 
Jetty, to the milking-shed." 



If it be long, aye, long ago, 

When I beginne to think howe long, 
Againe I hear the Lindis flow, 

Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong; 
And all the aire it seemeth mee 
Is full of floating bells (sayth shee), 
That ring the tune of Enderby. 



THE HIGH TIDE. 257 

Alle fresh the level pasture lay. 

And not a shadow mote be seene, 

Save where full fyve good miles away 

The steeple towered from out the greene ; 

And lo ! the great bell farre and * wide 

Was heard in all the country side, 

That Saturday at eventide. 



The swannerds where their sedges are 

Moved on in sunset's golden breath, 
The shepherde lads I heard afarre, 
And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ;. 
Till floating o'er the grassy sea 
Came downe that kyndly message free, 
The " Brides of Mavis Enderby." 



Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
And all along where Lindis flows 

To where the goodly vessels lie, 

And where the lordly steeple shows. 

They sayde, "And why should this thing be? 

What danger lowers by land or sea ? 

They ring the tune of Enderby! 



"For evil news from Mablethorpe, 
Of pyrate galleys warping down ; 



258 THE HIGH TIDE. 

For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne ; 
But while *he west bin red to see, 
And storm be none, and pyrates flee, 
Why ring < The Brides of Enderby'?" 

I looked without, and, lo ! my sonne 

Came riding downe with might and main. 

He raised a shout as he drew on, 
Till all the welkin rang again, 

" Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! " 

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 

" The olde sea-wall (he cried) is downe, 
The rising tide comes on apace, 

And boats adrift in yonder town 
Go sailing uppe the market-place." 

He shook as one who looks on death : 

" God save you, mother ! " straight he saith ; 

' : Where is my wife, Elizabeth ? " 

" Good sonne, where Lindis winds away, 

With her two bairns I marked her long; 
And ere yon bells beganne to play, 

Afar I heard her milking-song. 
He looked across the grassy sea, 
To right, to left," " Ho, En derby ! " 
They rang " The Brides of Enderby ! " 



THE HICxH TIDE. 259 

With that he cried and beat his breast ; 

For lo ! along" the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest, 

And uppe the Lindis raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud; 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 



And rearing Lindis backward pressed, 

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; 
Then madly at the eygre's breast 

Flung up her weltering walls again. 
Then bankes came clowne with ruin and rout- 
Then beaten foam flew round about — ■ 
Then all the mighty floods were out. 



So farre, so fast the eygre drave, 

The heart had hardly time to beat, 
Before a shallow, seething wave 

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : 
The feet had hardly time to flee 
Before it brake against the knee, 
And all the world was in the sea. 



Upon the roofe we sate that night, 
The noise of bells went sweeping by : 

I marked the lofty beacon-light 

Stream from the church-tower, red and high — * 



260 THE HIGH TIDE. 

A lurid mark and dread to see; 
And awesome bells they were to mee, 
That in the dark rang " Enderby." 



They rang the sailor lads to guide 

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed : 

And I, — my sonne was at my side, 
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; 

And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 

" O, come in life, or come in death ! 

O lost ! my love, Elizabeth ! " 



And didst thou visit him no more ? 

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare ! 
The waters laid thee at his doore, 

Ere yet the early dawn was clear. 
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 



That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, 
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; 

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 

To manye more than myne and me ! 

But each will mourn his own (she saith). 

And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth. 



THE HIGH TIDE. 261 

I shall never hear her more 
By the reedy Lindis' shore, 
" Cusha, Cusha, Cusha ! " calling, 
Ere the early dews be falling ; 
I shall never hear her song, 
" Cusha ! CushaJ " all along, 
Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 

Goeth, floweth ; 
From the meads where melick groweth, 
When the water, winding down, 
Onward floweth to the town. 

I shall never see her more 
W T here the reeds and rushes quiver, 

Shiver, quiver : 
Stand beside the sobbing river, 
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling, 
To the sandy lonesome shore ; 
I shall never hear her calling, 

" Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow ; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, LightfoDt, 
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, 
Hollow, hollow ; 
Come uppe, Lightfoot, rise and follow; 

Lightfoot, Whitefoot, 
From your clovers lift the head ; 

Come uppe, Jetty, follow, follow, 
Jetty, to the milking-shed." 

— yean Ingelow, 



2 62 THE CHILD AND THE GORSE. 

THE CHILD AND THE GORSE. 

A CHILD gathering field-flowers beheld one 
sunny day 
The glittering mountain-gorse bloom. At once she 

threw away 
The violet and primrose, fresh gather'd, fair and 

sweet, 
And cast them by the wayside to be trampled 

under feet. 
But hear ! a cry of anguish from the disappointed 

child, 
Who clutch'd too eagerly the flowers whose 

golden light beguiled ; 
The prickly gorse was thickly set with sharp and 

cruel thorn, 
And the bleeding fingers of the child with smart- 
ing wounds were torn. 



Children of larger growth, do not too much this 
folly blame ; 

Think, with your secret well at heart, how much 
ye err the same ; 

How many let the simple flowers of God neg- 
lected fall, 

And, clutching Earth's false, glittering flowers, 
lose hopes beyond recall — 

Grasping with eager avarice, with blinded heart 
and brain, 



THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SOUIRREL. 26? 

The gleams of gold their folly dreams must be 

life's highest gain. 
Think ye your hands shall pass unscath'd the 

thorns such flowers beset ? — 
Learn of the child who plucked the gorse and 

lost the violet. 



THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. 

I^HE mountain and the squirrel 
Had a quarrel, 
And the former called the latter " Little prig ! " 
Bun replied, 

" You are doubtless very big, 
But all sorts of things and weather 
Must be taken in together 
To make up a year, 
And a sphere : 
And I think it no disgrace 
To occupy my place. 
If I'm not as large as you, 
You are not so small as I, 
And not half so spry ; 
I'll not deny you make 
A very pretty squirrel track, 
Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ; 
If I cannot carry forests on my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut." 



264 THE BAREFOOT BOY. 

THE BAREFOOT BOY. 

BLESSINGS on thee, little man, 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 
With the sunshine on thy face, 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; 
From my heart I give thee joy ! 
I was once a barefoot boy. 

Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-dollared ride ! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
Thou hast more than he can buy, 
In the reach of ear and eye, — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy: 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

O, for boyhood's painless play; 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day ; 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules ; 
Knowledge never learned of schools, 
Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
Of the wild-flower's time and place, 
Flight of: fowl and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood ; 



• THE BAREFOOT BOY. 265 

How the tortoise bears his shell ; 
How the wood-chuck digs his cell, 
And the ground-mole sinks his well. 
How the robin feeds her young ; 
How the oriole's nest is hung; 
Where the whitest lilies blow; 
Where the freshest berries grow ; 
'Where the ground-nut trails its vine; 
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine : 
Of the black wasp's cunning way, — 
Mason of his walls of clay, — 
And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artisans ! — 
For, eschewing books and tasks, 
Nature answers all he asks ; 
Hand in hand with her he walks, 
Face to face with her he talks, 
Part and parcel of her joy, — 
Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 



O, for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw, 
We, their master, waited for. 
I was rich in flowers and trees, 
Humming-birds and honey-bees ; 
For my sport the squirrel played ; 
Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone ; 



2 66 THE BAREFOOT BOY. 

Laughed the brook for my delight 
Through the day and through the night 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talked with me from fall to fall ; 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond ; 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond ; 
Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides ! 
Still, as my horizon grew 
Larger grew my riches too ; 
All the world I saw or knew, 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 



O, for festal dainties spread, 
Like my bowl of milk and bread, — 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 
O'er me, like a regal tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frog's orchestra; 
And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire, 
I was monarch : pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy ! 



LITTLE BUILDERS. 267 

Cheerily, then, my little man, 
Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
Every morning shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
Every evening from thy feet 
-Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work be shod, 
Made to tread the mills of toil, 
Up and clown in ceaseless moil : 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground ; 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou could'st know thy joy, 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 

— John G. Whittier. 



LITTLE BUILDERS. 

LAY the blocks on very even, 
Place them skilfully with care ; 
Ah ! your mimic house is growing 
Large, and high, and very fair. 



268 THE DISCONTENTED YEW-TREE. 

Keep thy patience, little builders ; 

Wrath and haste thy work undo ; 
If thy walls fall down before thee, 

Other walls have fallen, too. 



Older hands have oft erected 
Castles large and fair as thine, 

Built with every hope and heart-beat, 
Yet they crumble and decline. 

Waste no time in vainly weeping 

Over errors you have made ; 
Work again, and build more strongly; 

Some day thou wilt be repaid. 

— A?wn. 



THE DISCONTENTED YEW-TREE. 

A DARK-GREEN prickly yew one night 
Peeped round on the the trees of the 
forest. 
And said " Their leaves are smooth and bright — 
My lot is the worst and poorest. 

" I wish I had golden leaves," said the yew , 

And lo ! when the morning came, 
He found his wish had come suddenly true, 

For his branches were all aflame, 



THE DISCONTENTED YEW-TREE. 269 

Now, by came a Jew, with a bag on his back. 
Who cried, " I'll be rich to-day ! " 

He stripped the boughs, and, filling his sack 
With the yellow leaves, walked away. 

The yew was as vexed as a tree could be, 
And grieved as a yew-tree grieves, 

And sighed, " If Heaven would but pity me, 
And grant me crystal leaves!" 

Then crystal leaves crept over the boughs ; 

Said the yew, " Now am not I gay ? " 
But a hailstorm hurricane soon arose 

And broke every leaf away. 

So he mended his wish yet once again ; 

" Of my pride I do now repent ; 
Give me fresh green leaves, quite smooth and 
plain, 

And I will be content.'' 

In the morning he woke in smooth, green leaf. 

Saying, " This is a sensible plan ; 
The storm will not bring my beauty to grief, 

Or the greediness of man." 

But the world has goats as well as men, 

And one came snuffing past. 
Which ate of the green leaves a million and ten, 

Not havino- broken his fast. 



270 THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 

Oh, then the yew-tree groaned aloud , 

ci What folly was mine, alack ! 
I was discontented, and I was proud — 

Oh, give me my old leaves back ! " 

Sc when daylight broke, he was dark, dark green 

And prickly as before. 
The other trees mocked : " Such a sight to be 
seen ! 

To be near him makes one sore." 

The south wind whispered his leaves between, 
" Be thankful and change no more. 

The thing you are is always the thing 
That you had better be." 

But the north wind said, with a gallant fling, 
" The foolish, w r eak yew-tree ! 

" What if he blundered twice or thrice ? 

There's a turn to the longest lane : 
And everything must have its price — 

Poor falterer, try again ! " 

— Lilliput Levee. 

THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 

NO stir in the air, no stir in the sea: 
The ship was still as she could be ; 
Her sails from Heaven received no motion, 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 



THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 27 1 

Without either sign or sound of their shock. 
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock; 
So little they rose, so little they fell, 
They did not move the Inchcape Bell. 

The Abbot of Aberbrothok 

Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock, 
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, 
And over the waves its warning rung. 



When the rock was hid by the surges' swell, 
The mariners heard the warning bell, 
And then they knew the perilous rock, 
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok. 



The sun in heaven was shining gay, 

All things were joyful on that day ; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, 

And there was joyance in their sound. 



The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen 
A darker speck on the ocean green ; 
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring, 
It made him whistle, it made him sing, 



272 THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 

His heart was mirthful to excess, 
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the Inchcape float; 
Quoth he " My men, put out the boat, 
And row me to the Inchcape Rock, 
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 

And to the Inchcape Rock they go ; 

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. 

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound, 

The bubbles rose and burst around ; 

Quoth Sir Ralph, " The next who comes to the 

Rock, 
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 



Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away, 
He scoured the seas for many a day, 
And now, grown rich with plundered store, 
He steers his course for Scotland's shore. 



So thick a haze o'erspread the sky 
They cannot see the sun on high; 
The wind hath blown a gale all day, 
At evening it hath died away. 



THE IXCHCAPK ROCK. 273 

On the deck the Rover takes his stand ; 
So dark it is they see no land. 
Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon, 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 



"Canst hear," said one, u the breakers roar? 
For methinks we should be near the shore." 
" Now, where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell." 



They hear no sound, the swell is strong, 
Though the wind hath fallen, they . drift along 
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock, - 
" O death ! it is the Inchcape Rock." 



Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, 
He cursed himself in his despair ; 
The waves rush in on every side, 
The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 



But, even in his dying fear, 
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear — 
A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, 
The Devil below was ringing his knell. 

— Rolert Sonthey\ 



? 74 



DISCONTENT. 




DISCONTENT. 

DOWN in a field one day in June, 
The flowers all bloomed together, 
Save one, who tried to hide herself, 
And drooped, that pleasant weather. 



A robin, who had soared too high, 

And felt a little lazy, 
Was resting near a buttercup, 

Who wished she were a daisy. 



DISCONTENT. 275 

For daisies grow so trig and tall ; 

She always had a passion 
For wearing frills about her neck, 

In just the daisies' fashion. 

And buttercups must always be 

-The same old tiresome color, 
While daisies dress in gold and white. 

Although their gold is duller. 

" Dear robin," said this sad young flower, 
" Perhaps you'd not mind trying 

To find a nice white frill for me 
Some clay, when you are flying." 

" You silly thing ! " the robin said ; 

" I think you must be crazy ; 
I'd rather be my honest self 

Than any made-up daisy. 

" You're nicer in your own bright gown ; 

The little children love you; 
Be the best buttercup you can. 

And think no flower above you. 

"Though swallows leave me out of sight, 

We'd better keep our places ; 
Perhaps the world would go all wron n ; 

With one too many daisies. 



276 TO-DAY. 

" Look bravely up into the sky, 
And be content with knowing 

That God wished for a buttercup 
Just here, where you are growing." 

— Sarah O. Jewett. 



TO-DAY. 

SO, here hath been dawning 
Another blue day ; 
Think, wilt thou let it 
Slip useless away ? 

Out of Eternity 

This new day is born ; 
Into Eternity 

At night will return. 

Behold it aforetime 

No eye ever did : 
So soon it forever 

From all eves is hid. 



Here hath been dawning 

Another blue day; 
Think, wilt thou let it 

Slip useless away ? 

• — Thomas Carlyle. 



L 



A PROVERB. 277 

A PROVERB. 

ISTEN to the water-mill 
Through the livelong day, 



How the clanking of the wheels 

Wears the hours away ! 
Languidly the autumn wind 

Stirs the greenwood leaves ; 
From the fields the reapers sing, 

Binding up the sheaves, 
And a proverb haunts my mind. 

As a spell is cast, — 
" The mill will never, never grind, 

With the water that has passed." 

Take the lesson to thyself, 

Loving heart and true ; 
Golden years are fleeting by, 

Youth is passing, too ; 
Learn to make the most of life, 

Lose no happy day ; 
Time will never bring thee back 

Chances swept away. 
Leave no tender word unsaid : 

Love while life shall last — 
For — "The mill will nevar grind 

With the water that has passed." 

Work while yet the daylight shines 
Wan of strength and will ! 



278 WHAT THE SPARROW CHIRPS. 

Never does the streamlet glide 

Useless by the mill. 
Wait not till to-morrow's sun 

Beams upon the way; 
All that thou canst call thine own 

Lies in thy to-day. 
Power, intellect, and health, 

May not, cannot last ; 
" The mill will never, never grind 

With the water that has passed." 



WHAT THE SPARROW CHIRPS. 

I AM only a little sparrow, 
A bird of low degree ; 
My life is of little value, 

But the dear Lord cares for me. 



He gave me a coat of feathers ; 

It is very plain, I know, 
With never a speck of crimson, 

For it was not made for show. 



But it keeps me warm in winter, 
And it shields me from the rain ; 

Were it bordered with gold or purple 
Perhaps it would make me vain. 



WHAT THE SPARROW CHIRPS. 

By and by when the spring-time comes, 

I'll build myself a nest, 
With many a chirp of pleasure, 

In the spot I like the best. 

And He will give me wisdom 

To build it of leaves most brown ; 

Soft it must be for my birdies, 
And so I will line it with down. 

I have no barn or store-house, 

I neither sow nor reap ; 
God gives me a sparrow's portion, 

But never a seed to keep. 

If my meal is sometimes scanty. 
Close picking makes it sweet; 

I have always enough to feed me, 
And " life is more than meat."' 

I know there are many sparrows — 
All over the world we are found — 

But our Heavenly Father knoweth 
When one of us falls to the ground. 

Though small, we are never forgotten ; 

Though weak, we are never afraid; 
For we know that the dear Lord keepeth 

The life of the creatures he made. 



> 79 



280 THE OPEN DOOR. 

I fly through the thickest forests, 
I light on many a spray ; 

I have no chart nor compass, 
But I never lose my way, 



And I fold my wings at twilight, 
Wherever I happen to be ; 

For the Father is always watching, 
And no harm will come to me. 



I am only a little sparrow, 

A bird of low degree, 
But I know that the Father loves me : 

Have you less faith than we ? 

— Poems of Home Life. 



THF OPEN DOOR. 

WITHIN a town of Holland once 
A widow dwelt, 'tis said, 
So poor, alas ! her children asked 

One night in vain for bread. 
But this poor woman loved the Lord, 

And knew that He was good ; 
So, with her little ones around, 
She prayed to Him for food. 



THE OPEN DOOR. 28 1 

When prayer was done, her eldest child, 

A boy of eight years old, 
Said softly, "In the Holy Book, 

Dear mother, we are told 
How God, with food by ravens brought, 

Supplied His prophet's need/' 
'•Yes," answered she ; "but that, my son, 

Was long ago indeed." 

" But, mother, God may do again 

What He has clone before ; 
And so, to let the birds fly in, 

I will unclose the door." 
Then little Dirk, in simple faith. 

Threw ope the door full wide. 
So that the radiance of the lamp 

Fell on the path outside. 

Ere long the burgomaster passed. 

And noticing the light, 
Paused to inquire why the door 

Was open so at night. 
' ; My little Dirk has done it, sir,!' 

The widow, smiling, said. 
" That ravens might fly in to bring 

Mv hunsfrv children bread.'' 



" Indeed ! " the burgomaster cried : 
"Then here's a raven, lad; 



282 WHAT THE CHOIR SANG. 

Come to my home, and you shall see 
Where bread may soon be had." 

Along the street to his own house 
He quickly led the boy, 

And sent him back with food that filled 
His humble home with joy. 



The supper ended, little Dirk 

Went to the open door, 
Looked up, and said : " Many thanks, good 
Lord ! " 

Then shut it fast once more. 
For, though no bird had entered in, 

He knew that God on high 
Had hearkened to his mother's prayer, 

And sent this full supply. 



WHAT T.HE CHOIR SANG ABOUT THE 
NEW BONNET. 

A FOOLISH little maiden bought a foolish 
little bonnet, 
With a ribbon and a feather and a bit of lace 

upon it ; 
And that the other maidens of the little town 

might know it, 
She thought she'd go to meeting the next Sunday, 
just to show it. 



WHAT THE CHOIR SANG. 285 

But though the little bonnet was scarce larger 

than a dime, 
The getting of it settled proved to be a work 

of time ; 
So, when it was fairly tied, all the bells had 

stopped their ringing, 
And when she came to meeting, sure enough, 

the folks were singing. 

So this foolish little maiden stood and waited 

at the door. 
And she shook her ruffles out behind, and 

smoothed them down before. 
••Hallelujah! hallelujah!" sang the choir above 

her head ; 
"Hardly knew you! hardly knew you!'' were 

the words she thought they said. 

This made the little maiden feel so very, very 

cross 
That she gave her little mouth a twist and her 

head a little toss, 
For she thought the very hymn they sang was 

all about her bonnet. 
With a ribbon and a feather and a bit of lace 

upon it. 

And she did not wait to listen to the sermon 

or the prayer. 
But pattered down the silent street and hurried 

up the stair. 



286 JOHN MAYNARD. 

Till she'd reached her little bureau, and in a 

band-box on it, 
Had hidden, safe from critic's eye, her foolish 

little bonnet. 

Which proves, my little maidens, that each of 

you will find 
In every Sabbath-service but an echo of your 

mind ; 
And the little head that's filled with silly little 

airs, 
Will never get a blessing from sermons or from 

prayers. 

— Miss Hammond. 

JOHN MAYNARD. 

TWAS on Lake Erie's broad expanse, 
One bright midsummer day, 
The gallant steamer Ocean Queen 
Swept proudly on her way. 

Bright faces clustered on the deck, 

Or, leaning o'er the side, 
Watched carelessly the feathery foam 

That necked the rippling tide. 

Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky 

That smiling bends serene, 
Could deem that danger awful, vast, 

Impended o'er the scene ? 



JOHN MAYNARD. 287 

Could dream that ere an hour had sped 

That frame of sturdy oak 
Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, 

Blackened with fire and smoke ! 

A seaman sought the captain's side, 

A moment whispered low ; 
The captain's swarthy face grew pale, 
' He hurried down below. 

Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp 

And clear his orders came, 
No human efforts could avail 

To quench the insidious flame. 

The bad news quickly reached the deck, 

It sped from lip to lip, 
And ghastly faces everywhere 

Looked from the doomed ship. 

"Is there no hope — no chance of life!" 

A hundred lips implore ; 
" But one," the captain made reply, 

" To run the ship on shore." 

A sailor whose heroic soul 

That hour should yet reveal, 
By name John Maynard, eastern born, 

Stood calmly at the wheel. 



288 JOHN MAYNARD. 

" Head her southeast ! " the captain shouts, 

Above the smothered roar, 
" Head her southeast without delay ! 

Make for the nearest shore ! " 

No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, 

Or clouds his dauntless eye, 
As in a sailor's measured tone 

His voice responds, " Ay, ay ! " 

Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight, 
Crowd forward wild with fear : 

While at the stern the dreadful flames 
Above the deck appear. 

John Maynard watched the nearing flames, 

But still, with steady hand, 
He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly 

He steered the ship to land. 

"John Maynard, can you still hold out?" 

He heard the captain cry ; 
A voice from out the stifling smoke 

Faintly responds, " Ay, ay ! " 

But half a mile ! A hundred hands 

Stretch eagerly to shore. 
But half a mile ! That distance sped, 

Peril shall all be o'er. 



JOHN MAYNARD. 289 

But half a mile ! Yet stay, the flames 

No longer slowly creep, 
But gather round the helmsman bold 

With fierce, impetuous sweep. 

" John Maynard," with an anxious voice, 

The captain cries once more, 
" Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, 

And we will reach the shore." 

Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart 

Responded firmly still, 
Unawed, though face to face with death, 

"With God's good help, I will!" 

The flames approach with giant stride, 
They scorch his hands and brow, 

One arm disabled seeks his side, 
Ah ! he is conquered now ! 

But no, his teeth are firmly set, 

He crushes down his pain, 
His knee upon the stanchion pressed, 

He guides the ship again. 

One moment yet, one moment yet! 

Brave heart, thy task is o'er; 
The pebbles grate beneath the keel, 

The steamer touches shore. 



290 JOHN GILPIN. 

Three hundred grateful voices rise 

In praise to God, that He 
Hath saved them from the fearful fire, 

And from the engulfing sea. 

But where is he, that helmsman bold ? 

The captain saw him reel — 
His nerveless hands released their task, 

He sank beside the wheel. 

The wave received his lifeless corpse, 
Blackened with smoke and fire. 

God rest him ! Never hero had 
A nobler funeral pyre ! 



JOHN GILPIN. 

JOHN Gilpin was a citizen 
Of credit and renown, 
A train-band captain eke was he 
Of famous London Town. 

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, 
" Though wedded we have been 

These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
No holiday have seen. 

" To-morrow is our wedding-day, 
4nd we will then repair 



JOHN GILPIN, 291 



Unto the Bell at Edmonton, 
All in a chaise and pair. 



" My sister and my sister's child, 
Myself, and children three, 

Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 
On horseback after we." 



He soon replied, "I do admire 

Of womankind but one, 
And you are she, my dearest clear, 

Therefore it shall be done. 



" I am a linen-draper bold, 
As all the world doth know, 

And my good friend, the Calender, 
Will lend his horse to go." 



Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, " That's well said ; 

And for that wine is dear, 
We wall be furnish'd with our own, 

Which is both bright and clear." 

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; 

O'erjoy'd was he to find 
That, though on pleasure she was bent, 

She had a frugal mind. 



292 JOHN GILPIN. 

The morning came, the chaise was brought, 

But yet was not allowed 
To drive up to the door, lest all 

Should say that she was proud. 

So three doors off the chaise was stay'd 

Where they did all get in, 
Six precious souls, and all agog 

To clash through thick and thin. 

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, 

Were never folk so glad; 
The stones did rattle underneath, 

As if Cheapside were mad. 

John Gilpin, at his horse's side, 

Seiz'd fast the flowing mane, 
And up he got, in haste to ride, 

But soon came clown again, 

For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, 

His journey to begin, 
When turning round his head, he saw 

Three customers come in. 

So down he came ; for loss of time, 

Although it grieved him sore, 
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 

Would trouble him much more. 



JOHN GILPIN. 293 

'Twas long before the customers 

Were suited to their mind, 
When Betty, screaming, came down-stairs, 

" The wine is left behind ! " 

"Good luck!" quoth he, " yet bring it me. 

My leathern belt likewise, 
In which I bear my trusty sword 
"When I do exercise." 

Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) 

Had two stone bottles found, 
To hold the liquor that she loved. 

And keep it safe and sound. 

Each bottle had a curling ear. 
Through which the belt he drew, 

And hung a bottle on each side, 
To make his balance true. 



Then over all, that he might be 

Equipped from top to toe, 
His long red cloak, well brush'cl and neat. 

He manfully did ' throw. 

Now see him mounted once again 

Upon his nimble steed. 
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, 

With caution and good heed 



294 JOHN GILPIN. 

But finding soon a smoother road 

Beneath his well-shod feet, 
The snorting beast began to trot, 

Which gall'd him in his seat. 

So, " Fair and softly," John he cried, 

But John he cried in vain ; 
That trot became a gallop soon, 

In spite of curb and rein. 

So stooping clown, as needs he must 

Who cannot sit upright, 
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, 

And eke with all his might. 

His horse, who never in that sort 

Had handled been before. 
What thing upon his back had got 

Did wonder more and more. 

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; 

Away went hat and wig ; 
He little dreamt, when he set out, 

Of running such a rig. 

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 

Like streamer long and gay, 
Till loop and button failing both, 

At last it flew away. 



JOHN GILPIN. 295 

Then might all people well discern 

The bottles he had slung ; 
A bottle swinging at each side, 

As hath been said or sung. 

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, 

Up flew the windows all ; 
And every soul cried out, " Well done ! " 
' As loud as he could bawl. 

Away went Gilpin — who but he ? 

His fame soon spread around, 
" He carries weight ! he rides a race ! 

'Tis for a thousand pound!" 

And still as fast as he drew near, 

'Twas wonderful to view 
How in a trice the turnpike men 

Their gates wide open threw. 

And now, as he went bowing down 

His reeking head full low, 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shatter'd at a blow. 

Down ran the wine into the road, 

Most piteous to be seen, 
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 

As they had basted been. 



296 JOHN GILPIN. 

But still he seemed to carry weight, 
With leathern girdle braced ; 

For all might see the bottle necks 
Still dangling at his waist. 

Thus all through merry Islington 
These gambols he did play, 

Until he came unto the Wash 
Of Edmonton so gay ; 

And there he threw the wash about 
On both sides of the way, 

Just like unto a trund ling-mop, 
Or a wild goose at play. 

At Edmonton his loving wife 

From the balcony spied 
Her tender husband, wondering much 

To see how he did ride. 



" Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! — Here's the house- 

They all aloud did crv ; 
4k The dinner waits, and we are tired ; " 

Said Gilpin, " So am I! " 

But yet his horse was not a whit 

Inclin'd to tarry there ; 
For why ? his owner had a house 

Full ten miles off, at Ware. 



JOHN GTLPIX. 297 

So like an arrow swift he flew, 

Shot by an archer strong ; 
So did he liy — which brings me to 

The middle of my song. 

Away went Gilpin out of breath, 

And sore against his will, 
Till, at his friend the Calender's, 
'His horse at last stood still: 



The Calender, amazed to see 

His neighbor in such trim, 
Laid clown his pipe, flew to the gate, 

And thus accosted him : 

" What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ; 

Tell me you must and shall — 
Say, why bare-headed you are come. 

Or why you come at all ? " 

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 

And loved a timely joke ; 
And thus unto the Calender, 

In merry guise, he spoke : 

" I came because your horse would come : 

And, if I well forebode. 
My hat and wig will soon be here, 

They are upon the road." 



298 JOHN GILPIN. 

The Calender, right glad to find 

His friend in merry pin, 
Return 'd him not a single word 

But to the house went in; 

Whence straight he came, with hat and wi{ 

A wig that flowed behind ; 
A hat not much the worse for wear, 

Each comely in its kind. 

He held them up, and in his turn 

Thus show'd his ready wit ; 
" My head is twice as big as yours, 

They therefore needs must fit. 

" But let me scrape the dust away, 

That hangs upon your face ; 
And stop and eat, for well you may 

Be in a hungry case." 

Said John, " It is my wedding-day, 
And all the world would stare, 

If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
And I should dine at Ware." 

So, turning to his horse, he said, 

" I am in haste to dine ; 
'Twas for your pleasure you came here, 

You shall go back for mine." . 



JOHN GILPIN. 299 

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! 

For which he paid full dear ; 
For while he spake, a braying ass 

Did sing most loud and clear ; 

Whereat his horse did snort, as he 

Had heard a lion roar, 
And gallop'd off with all his might, 

As he had done before. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; 
He lost them sooner than at first, 

For why ? — they were too big. 

Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw 

Her husband posting down 
Into the country far away. 

She pulled out half-a-crown ; 

And thus unto the youth she said, 

That drove them to the Bell, 
" This shall be yours, when you bring back 

My husband safe and well." 

The youth did ride, and soon did meet 

John coming back amain ; 
Whom in a trice he tried to stop, 

By catching at his rein ; 



300 JOHN GILPIN. 



But not performing what he meant, 
And gladly would have done, 

The frighted steed he frighted more, 
And made him faster run. 



Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went postboy at his heels, 
The postboy's horse right glad to miss 

The rumbling of the wheels. 

Six gentlemen upon the road 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
With postboy scampering in the rear, 

They rais'd a hue and cry : — 

" Stop thief ! — stop thief ! — a highwayman ! 

Not one of them was mute ; 
And all and each that passed that way, 

Did join in the pursuit. 

And now the turnpike gates again 

Flew open in short space : 
The toll-men thinking, as before, 

That Gilpin rode a race. 

And so he did, and won it too 

For he got first to town ; 
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 

He did again get clown. 



THE BUILDERS. 



301 



Now let us sing, long live the king, 

And Gilpin, long live he ; 
And, when he next doth ride abroad, 

May I be there to see. 

— William Cowper. 



THE BUILDERS. 

ALL are architects of Fate, 
Working in these walls of time ; 
Some with massive deeds and great, 
Some with ornaments of rhvme. 



Nothing useless is, or low; 

Each thing in its place is best; 

And what seems but idle show- 
Strengthens and supports the rest. 



For the structure that we raise, 
Time is with materials filled : 

Our to-days and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 



Truly shape and fashion these ; 

Leave no yawning gaps between : 
Think not, because no man sees. 

Such things will remain unseen. 



302 THE BUILDERS. 

In the elder days of Art 

Builders wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part ; 

For the gods see everywhere. 



Let us do our work as well, 

Both the unseen and the seen, — 

Make the house, where gods may dwell, 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 



Else our lives are incomplete, 

Standing in these walls of Time, 

Broken stairways, where the feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 



Build to-day, then, strong and sure, 
With a firm and ample base ; 

And ascending and secure 
Shall to-morrow find its place. 



Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets, where the eye 

Sees the world as one vast plain, 
And one boundless reach of sky. 

— H. IV. Longfellow. 



THE CHILD-JUDGE. 303 

THE^CHILD-JUDGE. 

WHERE hast thou been toiling all day, 
sweetheart, , 

That thy brow is burdened and sad ? 
The Master's work may make weary feet, 
But it leaves the spirit glad. 



" Was thy garden nipped with the midnight frost, 
Or scorched with the midday glare ? 

Were thy vines laid low, or thy lilies crushed, 
That thy face is so full of care ? " 



" Xo pleasant garden-toils were mine ! — 
I have sat on the judgment-seat. 

Where the Master sits at eve and calls 
The children around his feet." 



" How earnest thou on the judgment-seat, 
Sweetheart ? who set thee there ? 

'Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee, 
And well misfht fill thee with care.'' 



u I climbed on the judgment-seat myself, 

I have sat there alone all day ; 
For it grieved me to see the children around 

Idling their life away. 



304 THE CHILD-JUDGE. 

"They wasted the Master's precious seed; 

They wasted the precious hours ; 
They trained not the vines, nor gathered the 

fruits, 
And they trampled the sweet, meek flowers." 



" And what hast thou done on the judgment- 
seat, 

Sweetheart? what didst thou there? 
Would the idlers heed thy childish voice ? 

Did the garden mend for thy care?" 

" Nay, that grieved me more ! I called and I 
cried, 

But they left me there forlorn. 
My voice was weak, and they heeded not, 

Or they laughed my words to scorn." 

" Ah, the judgment-seat was not for thee, 

The servants were not thine ! 
And the eves which adjudge the praise and the 
blame 

See further than thine or mine. 



"The voice that shall sound at eve, sweetheart, 

Will not raise its tones to be heard : 

It will hush the earth and hush the hearts, 

And none will resist its word." V 

^1 



THE CHILD-JUDGE. 307 

" Should I see the Master's treasures lost, 
The stores that should feed his poor, 

And not lift my voice, be it weak as it may, 
And not be grieved sore?" 

u Wait till the evening falls, sweetheart, — 

Wait till the evening falls ; 
The Master is near and knoweth all, 

Wait till the Master calls. 

" But how fared thy garden-plot, sweetheart, 
Whilst thou sat'st on the judgment-seat ? 

Who watered thy roses, and trained thy vines, 
And kept them from careless feet ? " 

" Nay, that is the saddest of all to me ! 

That is the saddest of all ! 
My vines are trailing, my roses are parched. 

My lilies droop and fall.'' 

"Go back to thy garden-plot, sweetheart, 

Go back till the evening falls ! 
And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines, 

Till for thee the Master calls. 

"Go make thy garden fair as thou canst, 

Thou workest never alone ; 
Perchance he whose plot is next to thine 

Will see it, and mend his own. 



308 THE BEGGAR. 

"And the next may copy his, sweetheart, 

Till all grows fair and sweet ; 
And when the Master comes at eve, 

Happy faces his coming will greet. 

"Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart, 

In the garden so fair to see. 
In the Master's words of praise for all, 

In a look of his own for thee." 

TRUE NOBILITY. 

THIS above all, 
To thine own self be true ; 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any one." 

— Shakespeare. 

THE BEGGAR. 

A BEGGAR through this world am I, 
From place to place I wander by ; 
Fill up my pilgrim's script for me, 
For Christ's sweet sake and charity ! 

A little of thy steadfastness, 
Rounded with leafy gracefulness, 
Old oak, give me, — 

That the world's blasts may round me blow, 
And I yield gently to and fro, 
While my stout-hearted trunk below, 



THE BEGGAR. 309 

And firm-set roots, unmoved be. 

Some of thy stern, unyielding might, 
Enduring still through day and night 
Rude tempest-shock and withering blight, — 
That I may keep at bay 
The changeful April sky of chance, 
And the strong tide of circumstance, — 
Give me, old granite gray. 

Some of thy mournful ness serene, 
Some of the never-dying green, 
Put in this script of mine, 
That grief may fall like snow-flakes light, 
And deck me in a robe of white, 
Ready to be an angel bright, — 
O sweetly mournful pine ! 

A little of thy merriment, 
Of thy sparkling, light content, 
Give me, my cheerful brook, — ■ 
That I may still be full of glee 
And gladsomeness, where'er I be, 
Though fickle fate hath prisoned me 
In some neglected nook. 

Ye have been very kind and good 
To me, since I have been in the wood ; 
Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart ; 
.But good-by, kind friends, every one, 
I've far to go ere set of sun .: 
Of all good things I would have part, 
The day was high ere I could start, 
And so my journey's scarce begun. 



310 LIFE. 

Heaven help me ! how could I forget 
To beg of thee, dear violet? 
Some of thy modesty, 
That flowers here as well, unseen, 
As if before the world thou'dst been, 
Oh, give, to strengthen me. 

— J. R. Lowell. 



LIFE. 

LIFE ! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part; 
And when, or how, or where we met 
I own to me's a secret yet. 



Life, we have been long together, 

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 
'Tis hard to part where friends are dear, 

Perhaps t'will cost a sigh, a tear. 



Then steal away, give little warning; 

Choose thine own time ; 
Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime 

Bid me Good-morning. 

— Mrs. Barbauld. 



GOOD-NIGHT, GOOD-BY. 311 

GOOD-NIGHT, GOOD-BY. 

SAY not good-by! Dear friend, from thee 
A word too sad that word would be : 
Say not Good-by ! Say but good-night, 
And say it with thy tender, light, 
Caressing voice, that links the bliss 
Of yet another day with this. 
Say but good-night ! 

Say not good-by ! Say but good-night : 
A word that blesses in its flight, 
In leaving hope of many a kind, 
Sweet day, like this we leave behind. 
Say but good-night ! Oh, never say 
A word that taketh thee away ! 

Say but good-night! Good-night! 

— Dora GreenwelL 



New Publications. 



Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. By 

Margaret Sidney. 111. Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. Price 
$1.50. Of all the books for juvenile readers which crowd 
the counters of the dealers this season, not one possesses so 
many of those peculiar qualities which go to make up a per- 
fect story as this charming work. It tells the story of a 
happy family, the members of which, from the mother to the 
youngest child, are bound together in a common bond of 
love. Although poor, and obliged to plan and scrimp and 
pinch to live from day to day, they make the little brown 
house which holds them a genuine paradise. To be sure 
the younger ones grumble occasionally at having nothing 
but potatoes and bread six days in. the week, but that can 
hardly be regarded as a defect either of character or disposi- 
tion. Some of the home-scenes in which these little Pep- 
pers are the actors are capitally described, and make the 
reader long to take part in them. The description of the 
baking of the birthday cake by the children during the 
absence of the mother ; the celebration of the first Christ- 
mas, and the experiences of the family with the measles are 
portions of the book which will be thoroughly enjoyed. A 
good deal of ingenuity is displayed by the author in bring- 
ing the little Peppers out of their poverty and giving them a 
start in life. The whole change is made to turn on the 
freak of the youngest of the cluster, the three-year old 
Phronsie, who insisted on sending a gingerbread boy to a 
rich old man who was spending the summer at the village 
hotel. The old gentleman after laughing himself sick at the 
ridiculous character of the present, called to see her, and is 
so taken with the whole family that he insists upon carrying 
the eldest girl home with him to be educated. How she 
went, and what she did, and how the rest of the family 
finally followed her, with the rather unlooked-for discovery of 
relationship at the close, make up the substance of a dozen 
or more interesting chapters. It ought, for the lesson it 
leaches, to be put into the hands of every boy and girl »n 
the country. It is very fully and finely illustrated and 
bound in elegant form, and it will find prominent place 
among the higher class of iuvenile presentation books AM*- 
coming holiday season. 



New Publications. 



Half Year at Broncktojst. By Margaret Sidney. 

Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. Price $1.00. This bright and 
earnest story ought to go into the hands of every hoy who 
is old enough to be subjected to the temptations of school 
life. It teaches a lesson of incomparable importance, and 
in such a manner as to leave a permanent impression. 

Our American Artists. Second series. By S. G. W. 
Benjamin. 111. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. The first vol- 
ume ( f this series appeared two years ago, and met with 
immediate and universal favor. Mr. Benjamin, who is 
himself an artist, has taken special pains lo give such infor- 
mation in regard to our living and best-known painters as 
their admirers most desire to obtain. Each of the biograph- 
ical sketches contained in the volume is accompanied by a 
portrait with a view of the artist's studio and a reproduc- 
tion of some one of his works. Many of the artists have 
themselves furnished the designs for engraving. The book 
is admirably adapted for presentation purposes, both on 
account of the character of its contents, and the elegant 
manner in which it is printed and bound. 

Our Travelling Party. By Daniel C. Eddy. Five vols. 
111. Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. Price $5.00. In these 
five volumes Dr. Eddy lias brought together in an interest- 
ing manner, his experiences during a European tour describ- 
ing in a succinct and interesting way the various countries 
through which he passed, together with the characteristics 
of the people. The firs! volume is devoted to England and 
Scotland : thesecond to Ireland, thethird to The Alps and the 
Rhine : the fourth to Paris and Amsterdam and the closing 
volume to the countries lying between the Baltic and Vesu- 
vius. The several volumes are illustrated. 

Home and School. A song book for children. By L. C. 
Elson. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price si. Of). The author 
and compiler of this book is the editor of the Musical Herald, 
and a well-known musical authority. He has brought 
together a number of pleasant songs — all pieces adapted 
for home and school singing, which will be eagerly welcomed. 

CHBIBTMAS CAKOLS AND MlDSMTJMEK SOXGS. III. 

Boston : I). Lothrop & Co. Pi-ice $1.50. A dainty volume 
and one that will find favor among a multitude of pur- 
chasers for the holiday season is this collection of choice 
pieces by popular authors, brought together by a judicious 
hand. Great pains ha\e been taken by the publishers to 
make it an exceptionally attractive volume, and the success 
has been complete. The type is large and clear, and the 
illustrations from designs by prominent American artists. 
In size, it is uniform with How We Went Birds' -Nesting, 
one of the most popular of last year's presentation books. 



New Publications. 



The Pettiboxe Name. By Margaret Sidney. The VI F 
Series. Boston* D. Lotlnop & Co. Price $1.25 If the 
publishers bad offered a prize for the brightest, freshest and 
most brilliant bit of home fiction wherewith to start off this 
new series, they could not have more perfectly succeeded 
than they have in securing this. The Pettibone Name, a story 
that ought to create an immediate and wide sensation, and 
give the author a still higher place than she now occupies in 
popular esteem. The heroine of the story is not a young, 
romantic girl, but a noble, warm -hearted woman, who sacri- 
fices wealth, ease and comfort for the sake of others who are 
dear to her. There has been no recent figure in American 
fiction more clearly or skillfully drawn than Judith Petti- 
bone, and the impression made upon the reader will not be 
easily effaced. Most of the characters of the book are such 
as may be met with in any New England village. Deacon 
Badger, whose upright life and pleasant ways make him a 
universal favorite; little Doctor Pilcher, with his hot temper 
and quick tongue; Samantha Scarritt, the village dress- 
maker, whose sharp speech and love of gossip are tempered 
by a kind heart and quick sympathy, and the irrepressible 
Bobby Jane, all are from life, and all alike bear testimony 
to the author's keenness of observation and skill of delinea- 
tion. Taken altogether, it is a delightful story of Xew En- 
gland life and manners; sparkling in style, bright in incident, 
and intense in interest. It deserves to be widely read, as it 
will be. 

Life axd Public Career of Horace Greeley. By 
W. M. Cornell, LL. D. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price 
$1.25. This is a new edition of a popular life of Greeley, the 
first edition of which was early exhausted. It has been the 
author's aim to give a clear and correct pen picture of the 
great editor, and to trace the gradual steps in his career from a 
poor and hard-working farmer boy to the editorial chair of the 
most powerful daily newspaper in America. The book has 
been thoroughly revised and considerable new matter added. 



New Publications. 

Young Folks' History of America. Edited by Heze- 
kiah Butterwortli. Boston : D. Lotlirop & Co. Price $1.50. 
In form and general appearance this is an exceedingly attract- 
ive volume. The paper is good, the type clear, and the illus- 
trations with which its pages are crowded are well chosen 
and finely engraved. Mr. Butterwortli has selected for the 
basis of his work McKenzie's "History of the United 
States," which was published in England several years ago. 
The text has been thoroughly revised, changes made where 
necessary, fresh matter introduced and new chapters added, 
the remodelled work being admirably adapted for use in 
schools or for home reading. It sketches succinctly and yet 
clearly the gradual development of the country from the 
time of the landing of Columbus down to the present; 
brings into relief the principal occurrences and incidents in 
our national history ; explains the policy of the republic, 
and gives brief biographies of the statesmen and soldiers 
who have rendered especial services to the country. The 
narrative is brought down to the present moment, and in- 
cludes an account of the inauguration of Garfield, witn 
sketches of the members of his cabinet. An appendix con- 
tains a list of the Presidents and Vice Presidents of the 
United States, with the dates of their qualifications; statis- 
tics showing the population and area of the states and terri- 
tories, a list of the cities and towns of the United States hav- 
ing a population of ten thousand and upwards, according to 
the census of 1880, and a chronological table of events. 
There is, besides, an exhaustive index. The work should 
find a place in every home library. 

Warlock o' Glexwarlock. By George MacDonald. 
Illustrated. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price $1.75. This 
charming story, by one of the foremost English writers of 
the time, which has appeared , in the form of monthly sup- 
plements to Wide Awake, will be brought out early this 
fall in complete book form uniform in style with A Sea 
Board Parish, and Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood. It is 
a picture of Scotch life and character, such as none but Mr. 
MacDonald can paint; full of life and movement, enlivened 
with bursts of humor, shaded by touches of pathos, and 
showing keen powers of analysis in working out the charac- 
ters of the principal actors in the story. The book was set 
from the author's own manuscript, and appears here simul- 
taneously with the English edition. 



Writings of Ella Farman., 

EDITOR OF WIDE AWAKE. 



Ella Farman teaches art no less than letters; ard what is mere than both 
stimulates a pure imagination and wholesome thinking. In her work there is 
vastly more culture than in the whole schooling supplied to the average child 
in the average school. — New York Tribune. 

The authoress, Ella Farman, whose skilful editorial management of " Wide 
Awake " all acquainted with that publication must admire, shows that her 
great capacity to amuse and instruct our growing }'outh can take a wider 
range. Her books are exceedingly interesting, and of that fine moral tone 
which so many books of the present day lack. — The Times, Canada. 



A LITTLE WOMAN. Illustrated. i 2 mo $1.00 

A GIRL'S MONEY. Illustrated, nmo i.oo 

GRANDMA CROSBY'S HOUSEHOLD. Illustrated. i 2 mo i.oo 

GOOD-FOR-NOTHING POLLY. Illustrated. nmo i.oo 

HOW TWO GIRLS TRIED FARMING.' Illustrated. i 2 mo.... i.oo 

COOKING CLUB OF TU-WHIT HOLLOW. Illustrated. i 2 mo. 1.25 

MRS. HURD'S NIECE. Illustrated. i 2 mo 1.50 

ANNA MAYLIE. Illustrated. i 2 mo 1.50 

A WHITE HAND. Illustrated. i 2 mo 1.50 

The above set of nine volumes will be furnished at $10.00, 
*#* For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, by 

D. LOTHROP & CO., Franklin St., Boston. 



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Every American should own these books. — Scientific American. 

All published uniform with this volume Price $1.25 each. Sold by all 
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NEW PUBLICATIO NS- 

The Oxly Way Out. By Mrs. Jennie Fowler Willing. 
Illustrated. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price $1.50. The 
rather enigmatical title of the handsome volume before us 
is fully explained in the closing chapter of the story. The 
author endeavors to show that there is but one sure way 
out of the darkness into which we are plunged by earthly 
crosses and trials, and that is an earnest faith in and reli- 
ance upon Christ. The lesson sought to be conveyed is 
mainly through the experience of Joseph Gray don. a bright, 
generous-hearted young merchant, who is cursed with an 
appetite for liquor so strong that when temptation comes he 
has no power to resist it. Pledges, promises and resolutions 
made in his sober moments avail nothing when attacked by 
the terrible desire for drink. In all his struggles with the 
habit which is steadily working his ruin, he seeks no help 
outside of himself, depending only upon his own strength of 
will to overcome the tempter. He falls at last, a victim to 
his weakness and blindness in refusing to look for aid 
whence all aid conies. Says one of the characters in com- 
menting upon his fate — •' They may talk as they will, it 
takes a solid basis of rooky conviction to hold one to this 
work of mastering the evil that is rampant in the world. 
You may pile up figures and facts, pathos and argument, 
but unless God touches the conscience you can't depend 
upon a man for a steady pull through the breakers. All real 
reformatory power is vested in the Lord Jesus Christ." 

So as by Fire. Bv Margaret Sidney. 111. Boston: D. 
Lofhrop<& Co. Price $1.25/ Anything from the author of 
''Five Little Peppers" will be road with oa.aemess and with 
the certainty beforehand that it. will be well worth reading. 
So as by Fire is a story full of earnest purpose. The lesson 
it teaches is that it is only through great sorrow and tribula- 
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impress this fact strongly upon the mind of the reader is 
the constant aim of tine author. It is not a child's book, 
although some of the more entertaining characters in its 
pages are children. Its purpose is to strengthen those who 
are bowed down by trouble, and to inspire them with faith 
in the final reward of constant well don?g. 



LBMi 



